Stucky One-Shots
by MoonlitePage
Summary: A collection of Stucky shorts, one-shots, random ideas, and solo chapters that don't fit in anywhere else. Be aware: some of these will address or mention or feature serious topics! AU, angst, comfort, comedy, humor, modern, medieval, king, royal, romance, guard, prisoner, gods, magic, soulmate, no powers, Pre-WS, WS, Bucky Barnes, Captain America, Steve Rogers
1. Table of Contents

Here is a chapter/story guide for my Stucky One-shots! If a story is Starred* it may have triggers: read with caution.

**01 - The Watch***

Normally Steve's shift as a guard in the high priority containment block was dull; then they brought in the Winter Soldier.

One Part, Totally Modern AU (no WWII), Angsty, Semi-WS Bucky, Steve as a SHIELD agent

**02 - The Uncrowned King***

Something is wrong with Steve's new charge.

One Part, Medieval AU, No powers, Brainwashed Prince Bucky, Guard Steve,

**03 - I'm With You**

Bucky had always known Steve was his soulmate; Steve just hadn't had the mark to prove it.

Two parts (Only one published), Set during CA:FA, Soulmate AU

**04 - Manifest***

Steve needed to Manifest to become a soldier. He didn't expect the price to be so high.

One part, Superpower AU, Post-Stucky, Missing Bucky, Heartbroken Steve,

**05/06 - You Can't Hurt Me**

The Winter Soldier never missed and he didn't miss this shot either. But the bullet just bounced off his target's chest.

Two parts, 'Can't Hurt Your Soulmate' AU, WS Bucky is sent to kill modern CA Steve but can't

**07/08 - Blessed**

Bucky hadn't known being friends with a Water God would be such a relief during the war. Steve doesn't like others touching what's his.

Two parts, Magic/Gods AU, Water-God Steve, Mortal Bucky fighting in WWII,

**09 - Field Test***

Bucky has a nightmare about one of his first HYDRA kills.

One part, Post CA:CW, Recovering Bucky, Concerned Steve,

**10 - Dead Weight**

Bucky's got a new metal arm and it might be just what he needs to break free from HYDRA.

One part, Post CA:FA, Pre-WS Bucky,

**11 - A Broken Angel**

Steve is summoned by HYDRA and they want to bind him to the Winter Soldier. Steve has something else in mind.

One part, AU, To Be Angel Bucky, Demon Steve

**12 - Of Life and Living**

Bucky had woken up in an SSR hospital, his arm lost in the alps and his heart alongside Steve in the arctic. He'd planned to live the rest of his life just surviving until he could see Steve again, only to find out that forever might not just be an afterlife activity.

One Part, Mostly Cannon Universe

**13 - Demands of the Emperor**

Emperor Steve Rogers had won. The old kingdoms were united under his name and today was the day he would finally strip the old kings of their titles. But there's a surprise amongst the arrivals, one that could be quite fun.

One Part, No powers, Medieval/Royal AU


	2. The Watch

When they first brought him in he was quiet. Not in the subdued way captured agents who had given up were silent and compliant. He wasn't even quiet like a predator that knew it was surrounded by the enemy, waiting and watching, still and patient, for it's chance to break free. His eyes were sharp, not vacant, taking in every detail around him and yet there was something disconnected about them. Like the person the body belonged to had checked out of realty, leaving a living shell behind.

It was disconcerting, to say the least, Steve had finally decided after three hours of watching and guarding the man who did nothing more than breathe. Steve wasn't even sure his charge was blinking. He had sketched the man in detail already; thick shoulder length brown hair that fell partially in front of his surprisingly handsome face, the distant silvery blue eyes surrounded by raccoon-like black makeup, no hint of expression in his mouth.

Earlier, during the fighting, he'd worn heavily armed black combat attire. Now he wore the soft and simple gray clothing all SHIELD prisoners were given and it looked decidedly wrong on his combat-built form. The short sleeves also revealed the strange metal stripes the man had in his left arm, but the staff doctor hadn't had the time yet to go over him thoroughly enough to find out why they were there.

And so Steve's watch crept into its fourth hour. And slowly he became aware that his charge had begun to mutter. He set aside his sketch pad quickly and turned up the sensitivity on the microphone in the cell. It was still difficult to get any clear words, not that it would help because the man was speaking Russian.

Fairly quickly it became apparent that he was not speaking to someone somehow and by the time the fifth hour came around the man was screeching nonsensical Russian at the walls. He had tried to stand up several times, only to fall every time. He looked like a cornered animal; angry, frightened, and desperate. Occasionally that persona gave way to something else and he would curl up into a tight ball, making his not insignificant body look tiny, and rock back and forth as he grabbed his hair so tightly Steve feared he was going to pull it out.

Steve managed to wait a mere five minutes after his charge's sudden descent into madness, just in case it was a temporary episode, before he called for a doctor. He wasn't allowed into the room to help. He had to remain at his observation post and watch through the cameras as the doctor and two agents entered the cell.

The doctor moved forward cautiously while the agents lingered by the door. Steve's charge was in a curled-up-and-pulling-his-hair-moment and was whimpering in a way that was heartbreaking. The doctor tried to talk to him, reassure him or even just get a response, but he didn't get one. Not until he reached out for Steve's charge, anyway.

The brunet exploded. He launched himself at the doctor and pinned him to the floor, screaming Russian. The agents were quick to subdue him and after wrestling him down they ended up strapping him to the bed where he writhed and screamed in a desperate panic. But Steve had noticed something they hadn't; the brunet hadn't made any attempt to kill the doctor, and he was more than skilled enough he could have. Steve had seen him break a man's neck with his bare hands just a few hours ago without even the slightest pause. So why didn't he kill the doctor?

The doctor did his best to exam the poor thrashing man but finally just pulled away from the brunet, shaking his head at the camera. He couldn't exam a patient like that. Steve couldn't blame him. His charge was hysterical and once the doctor left his angry screaming quickly devolved into sobs and pleas. It was hard to watch, and harder still because his charge's absent eyes had faded as the event went on. It made the brunet look years younger; his fear was palpable and his desperation was heart wrenching. And there was nothing Steve could do besides _watch_.

By the time the sixth hour rolled around the brunet had stopped crying. Now, he was looking around the room, visibly flinching at things that weren't there, occasionally trying to pull free and get to something or he would call out to someone. Steve could only imagine whatever he was seeing responded because his charge had several conversations with invisible people, his tone usually pleading and desperate and more than once he had just started sobbing again.

Steve jumped a little when someone abruptly entered the cell. He was about to use the intercom to tell them they weren't allowed (which, they really shouldn't have been able to get into the cell if they weren't but still; protecting his charge was part of his duty) when he realized it was Natasha. Even she faltered, briefly, when she saw the brunet and Steve had never seen her get so pale before.

Then she was rushing forward to his side, murmuring soothingly and running her fingers through his hair. Steve didn't understand most of what she said, as she was speaking Russian, but he caught one pretty frequent word he could understand. James.

"James." He repeated to himself and decided the name suited the brunet. James had settled down immensely and was looking at Natasha was wide almost frightened eyes. He looked so very young.

They started speaking when James asked a soft almost fearful question, but whatever Natasha was saying back James didn't like as he started shaking his head and repeated another of the few German words Steve knew. "Nien." Over and over, with growing dismay and volume, until he was practically sobbing.

Natasha didn't seem upset and instead just worked calmly to soothe James again. It took a while, nearly an hour, and Steve was fairly certain James had passed out rather than fallen asleep, but at least his charge was resting. Natasha let her mask fall once James was breathing deeply and didn't appear like he was about to wake up again soon. She was pale, anxious and concerned in a way Steve had never seen her. But there was a certain amount of relief to her expression too. After a moment of running her fingers gently through James' hair her expression returned to neutral and she looked towards the camera.

Rather than speaking aloud, she signed 'Come to Clint's office' and Steve was grateful he'd learned sign language from and for Clint. He flicked the camera light twice to acknowledge her request and she nodded before she got up. James stirred, reached towards her as best his could with his limbs secured, and Steve watched Natasha kiss his forehead. It was so loving and pure and Steve had never seen that kind of gentleness from Natasha ever before.

But then she was out of the cell and his replacement had arrived and it was time for some answers.


	3. The Uncrowned King

Steve had been warned multiple times about his new charge. His boss Rumlow had lectured him for no less than sixteen hours over the last several days about everything that was okay to do and say around him, and especially everything that wasn't. His charge's guardian (and essential father), the King-Regent Alexander Pierce, had spent the last two hours doing much the same before he decided that Steve was an acceptable caretaker.

They had warned him about a lot. About how fragile his charge's mental state, and to a lesser extent his physical state, were. About how his charge was very childlike and didn't handle making decisions for himself well. About the numerous topics, actions, events, and even foods or drinks that could upset him and send him into a panic attack or make him disassociate. But the one thing no one had warned him about was how damn handsome the uncrowned king James Buchanan Barnes is.

The prince's blue eyes were crystal clear and vibrant (which Steve didn't expect after everything he'd been told). His skin was clear and soft; he obviously didn't get much sun but had a light natural tan. His brown hair was neatly styled, longer on the top than the sides and just long enough he had to push it back with elegant fingers when it fell in his face. He was seated almost delicately in a comfortable looking window seat in soft black clothes, a blanket around his shoulders, and a book resting on his legs.

James had sat up straight as soon as the door to the room opened and his expression lit up when he saw Pierce. The expression looked warm and made James go from handsome to gorgeous. Pierce left Steve standing in at the door in a daze, stunned from the smile, and moved over to James. "Being good?" Pierce asked and James nodded.

"Yes." He said and Steve realized, in a small way, what Rumlow and Pierce had been talking about. There was something childlike about his answer. About the adorative stare he was giving Pierce that was a bit odd coming from someone over twenty five, but Steve didn't think some of the terms Rumlow had used (like "borderline invalid") were accurate. James seemed fully aware of himself and what was going on.

Pierce ran a hand through James's hair and the man nuzzled against the touch like a cat. "Your hair is getting long again. We'll have to get it cut soon." Pierce commented and while Steve caught a flicker of a frown on James's face by the time Pierce looked he was smiling and nodding happily.

"Can you stay?" James asked and the tone actually broke Steve's heart a little bit. He sounded so excited and eager at the prospect.

"Not today, James." The disappointment in James's expression actually hurt. "But there is someone I want you to meet. He's going to be with you all the time from now on and he's going to take care of you while I can't." Pierce said. James' eyes flicked over to Steve briefly before they returned to Pierce. He looked almost frightened and Pierce gave him a firm look before he gripped James' chin. "I know you don't like new people, James, but I worry about you being here by yourself all day. If he really does upset you we'll find someone else, but will you try for me?" Pierce asked.

Slowly James nodded before he tipped his head down, looking towards the floor in a way that felt way too submissive for a man who was supposed to be king. Pierce looked satisfied though and ran a hand through James's hair again before he looked at Steve. Steve took his cue and stepped closer until he was standing next to Pierce.

"James, this is Steve Rogers. He's one of Brock's guards so you can trust him. He'll be your companion and bodyguard." Pierce said and slowly James looked up to meet his eyes. He offered Steve a flash of a smile and Steve offered him one back.

"It's very nice to meet you, James." He greeted and for a brief moment James's expression flickered with distaste, quickly enough Steve wondered if it was real, before his smile returned.

"Nice to meet you too." James answered quietly. Pierce smiled and nodded.

"James, I have to go now." Pierce said and James frowned. He opened his mouth and then closed it and nodded. Pierce smiled at that and once again stroked his hair before he stood up. "Be good." Pierce warned before he left.

Steve didn't miss James's flinch at those words, but hesitated to bring it up. James shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with him there, before he pulled his legs into his chest. "You can sit if you want." He offered softly.

Steve took it for the olive branch it was, smiled, and took the offered seat carefully so he didn't jostle the slightly smaller man. James was watching him, head still bowed, but quickly looked away every time he met Steve's eyes. This went on for a while before Steve finally, once it became clear the James wasn't about to pick up his book again, spoke. "So, James, I've been told a lot about you, but I'd like to hear about you from you."

James paused then looked at him more directly. James didn't seem upset, more like he was just waiting. His expression was almost passive. "What do you want to know?" He asked softly.

"Whatever you'd like to tell me. Your favorite color, favorite book, favorite song. What kind of schedule you keep and what things you like to do throughout the day." Steve offered. James looked a little overwhelmed and fumbled for a moment before he spoke.

"Um… I don't have any favorites. I wake up at ten, bathe and eat by eleven, lessons are 11:30 to four with a half hour break at 2:30. Afterwards, I stay in my room, or if the weather is nice sometimes Pierce lets me go to the garden, until seven. That's when we have dinner. And then I have to be in bed by ten." James almost recited and Steve couldn't help how wide his eyes got.

He would never have expected James to know his schedule so well, let alone be able to recite it by heart like that. There were a few other things that James had said that concerned him, too. Because how could someone not have a favorite _anything_? And some of the possessive terms bothered him; Pierce shouldn't be 'letting' James do anything and James shouldn't 'have' to be in bed at a certain time. The way he said it even made Steve think James thought he'd be punished for missing his bedtime.

But now wasn't the time to bring it up. "Well, that makes planning my schedule easy at least. There was one thing Lord Pierce and Rumlow never mentioned when they were telling me about this... arrangement. Am I supposed to stay overnight with you?" Steve asked. He wasn't sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

'No' would be so much easier. He would be so much less likely to become attached (he ignored the part of him that said he already was) and this could stay just his job. But 'yes'… 'yes' might mean he could figure out what was wrong with James and Pierce's relationship. 'Yes' would mean he could spend more time with the gorgeous man seated so close to him. And 'yes' all but guaranteed he'd become attached.

"I don't know." Of all the answers he could have gotten 'I don't know' was unexpected and possibly the worst. Not that he blamed James for it. "You'll have to ask Lord Pierce." James offered softly and that's when Steve realized the brunet had shrunk in on himself. It was defensive and fearful and suddenly Steve didn't care if he was spending the night or not. He wanted to know what had made James so easily frightened, take care of it, and then protect James from anything that might frighten him like this again.

"Alright." Steve agreed and James seemed confused by the sudden acceptance.

They fell into another awkward silence and finally James mumbled "What are your favorites?" Steve almost missed it he said it so quietly.

"My favorites? Well, my favorite color is red. I haven't done enough reading to have a favorite book because I prefer to draw. And I love pretty much any piano music." Steve answered. James was looking at him curiously.

"I can play piano." He finally said softly.

"Really? I'd love to hear you play sometime." Steve said with a warm smile and James nodded. Steve paused because James didn't look excited by the idea like Steve thought he would. "You don't have to if you don't want to." He added quickly, because he didn't want to upset the prince already.

But that just got him another confused look. "But you want me to." James stated and Steve nodded slowly because something about the way he said it made Steve uncomfortable.

"I would enjoy it if you did, certainly, but I'm not going to ask you to do something you don't like or want to." Steve assured. Except, James still seemed confused. He had looked away, towards the floor, and tugged his knees in as he thought.

As the time stretched on without James saying anything... Or moving… or even really blinking Steve started to get worried. He'd been told about James's occasional disassociations. According to Rumlow, James would just disappear into his head for long periods of time and become almost totally unresponsive. This was looking like one such episode.

Gently Steve reached out and touched his hand. "James? Still with me?" He asked as soothingly as he could. There was no reaction and Steve gave his hand a little squeeze. "Come on, James, talk to me. What's on your mind?" He encouraged.

The squeeze seemed to help pull him back and James blinked a few times before looking at Steve. "I don't have to do something I don't want to?" He asked softly, almost in a whisper, with an absolutely terrified expression on his face. Steve's heart sank at that because it all but confirmed his suspicions. James wasn't actually disabled or mentally unstable; he'd been manipulated into this state of dependence by someone.

"No, you don't, James. There may be times when you do, and it never hurts to listen with an open mind when someone has an honest objection or concern about something, but you have every right to say no to something you don't want to do." Steve assured him.

James swallowed hard and even as he held his legs tightly Steve could see his body starting to tremble. "I won't get punished?" He whispered and Steve shook his head.

"No, and if anyone tries to hurt you I'll do everything I can to protect you. I swear." Steve promised and he meant it.

James studied his face and then slowly he started moving. Steve stayed still while James crawled into his lap and clutched his shirt with trembling hands. Steve slowly wrapped his arms around James's body, giving the smaller man every chance to tell him no even if he wasn't sure James understood he could, and then Steve was holding him protectively. James's breath hitched at the touch.

Steve held him for several minutes, gently running his fingers up and down James's back. James felt too thin by half through his shirt. Steve could feel the knobs of his spine. Could feel James's almost unnatural fragility; Steve was a little bit worried that he would hurt the prince if he held him too tightly. But James seemed utterly relaxed in his arms, obviously happy to be held even as he shook. Unless James asked, Steve had no intention of letting him go any time soon. Steve actually jumped a little when James spoke after a long time in the silence.

"Steve? I'm scared." He practically breathed into Steve's ear. Steve didn't think his heart could break any further until he heard James's confession, but it all but shattered at the soft words. Only for it to be put back together beating a new rhythm, one that repeated the prince's name over and over, and he knew right there that he was willing to die for the uncrowned king.


	4. I'm With You (Part One)

Inhale. "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of-" Interrupted by a cough. Inhale again. "The 107th in-" Another cough. This time something comes up. Pause long enough to swallow. It tastes like blood. "Infantry, 32557." A few breaths this time. It's getting harder to breathe. "Sergeant James…"

"Bucky!" That was Steve. He could swear Steve was calling him. But Steve was in Brooklyn, safe. Far from the dangers of the war. He shouldn't be hearing Steve. Ignore it, then. It isn't real. Wouldn't be the first time.

"Buchanan Barnes of the 107th…" He continued to murmur.

"Bucky!" Steve's voice was much closer this time, and felt too real to just be a hallucination. Bucky forced his eyes open and saw…

"Steve?" He asked. It was Steve and it wasn't. This Steve was bigger; more muscular and filled out. Healthier. Still handsome, just in a more masculine way. But his eyes were the same wonderful blue. Bucky had forgotten about the little flecks of green until he saw them again. His hair was still that same soft gold, though shorter now.

"Yeah, Buck. I'm right here." Steve promised. Bucky believed him. The blond was studying something on his torso, but he didn't want to look away from Steve's face to see what it was. His friend grabbed the fabric straps keeping him bound to the table before he ripped them clean off. "I thought you were dead."

Bucky just blinked. There were a thousand questions about what was happening swirling through his head, enough it made him dizzy. Well, dizzier, especially when Steve helped him to sit up then pulled him to his feet. "I thought you were smaller." He finally replied, which got a smile from Steve as the blond guided Bucky's arm over his shoulder.

"Come on." Steve encouraged as he helped Bucky to stay balanced. The whole room was listing side to side under his feet like he was on a ship.

"What happened?" Bucky finally asked as they left the horrible experiment room and entered a long hallway that seemed to expand and sway as he stared down it.

"I joined the army." Steve answered.

That wasn't right. Bucky had been through the training too and as tough as it was it they wouldn't have been able to turn his little Stevie into this version of him. So Steve must have allowed them to do something to him. "Did it hurt?" Bucky asked as he gently pulled away from his friend's support. It wasn't that he didn't want it (or need it given how he immediately almost stumbled into a wall) but they'd move faster.

"A little." Steve was too busy looking out for something to notice, but Bucky was staring. He was still trying to reconcile all the little details he knew about small Steve with new Steve. And one was definitely how terrible of a liar he still was. But they could address that issue later.

"Is it permanent?" Bucky questioned.

"So far." Steve wasn't upset, but his breathless answer gave Bucky the impression his attention was elsewhere so he let it go. Survival first, lecturing Steve about self preservation later. So he focused on keeping up with Steve, which was a strange turn.

Usually he was the one slowing down to keep pace with Steve, but now Steve was practically bouncing with the desire to go faster. Bucky had little doubt the blond could have mapped out their entire route before he made it to the end of the hallway. He wanted to go faster, he really did, but as quickly as he was recovering he didn't think he could run yet without falling flat on his face. And he wasn't inclined to test it.

The building shook, at least Bucky was pretty sure the building shook and it wasn't his body rebelling, just as they entered the factory on one of the second floor catwalks. The whole ground floor was littered with enormous fires and there were even flaming pieces raining from the ceiling. They paused, Bucky trying to catch his breath and Steve trying to find the best path. "Steve, I'm only slowing you down. You should go." He insisted.

"Not a chance." Was the immediate response.

"Steve, go. Get out while you can." Bucky insisted and finally his friend turned to look at him. Bucky was taken aback for a moment at the almost anger in his expression. Steve stepped closer to him and took Bucky's right arm, pulling up his sleeve to expose the words there. 'I'm with you'. The first half of the phrase that would supposedly mean everything to him and his soulmate. He hadn't thought much about them before because the only soulmate he wanted was Steve, except Steve didn't have any words.

The blond let go of his arm and pulled up his own sleeve. 'to the end of the line.', clear as day, elegantly written in the same red ink as Bucky's. "Don't ask me to leave you." Steve whispered, pleaded. Bucky ran his fingers over the letters on his… soulmate's arm. They didn't smear and he wasn't dreaming. Somehow, Steve had become his soulmate. No… Steve had always been; he just didn't have the mark for some reason. Bucky had never been particularly religious, but he was definitely thanking God for keeping then both alive long enough to have this chance.

"How disgustingly pure." The sudden voice startled both him and Steve. Immediately the blond positioned himself between Bucky and the two men standing on the walkway on the opposite side of the room, his shield raised defensively. Bucky couldn't help flinching at the sight of the shorter one. Arnim Zola. A name and face that would certainly haunt him for the rest of his life. "As expected of the American hero, Captain."

"Schmidt!" Steve started across the bridge to approach the man and Bucky wanted to follow, he really did, but seeing Zola had shaken him and he was clinging to the railing just to stay upright.

Schmidt looked Steve over from head to toe and didn't even take a step away from the blond as he approached. "So Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still impressive." Schmidt said and Steve punched him, hard. Hard enough he stumbled back.

"You've got no idea." Steve warned. Bucky swallowed, his eyes flicking quickly between the pair as the tension in the air was practically palpable.

"Haven't I?" Schmidt asked before he returned the favor and swung at Steve. Bucky flinched, but Steve blocked it with his shield. But Schmidt left a dent in the metal and that made Bucky worry. Because he didn't know if Steve was strong enough to dent metal like that, even with his new body. Their fight was more of a scuffle and Steve was just getting the upper hand, knocking Schmidt backwards, when Zola suddenly moved.

Bucky grabbed the railing tighter as Zola pulled a lever, but all it did was cause the bridge on which the two were fighting to split in half. Separating Steve from Schmidt. Schmidt was rubbing his jaw and there was something odd about the way his skin hung from his face. "No matter what Erskine told you I was his greatest success!" Schmidt called before he suddenly grabbed his skin and ripped off the... mask? Bucky really hoped it was a mask.

Bucky could only stare. The man's face was skeletal and red underneath. He looked entirely inhuman. "You don't have one of those do you?" He asked Steve softly, unable to even take his eyes off Schmidt. Steve didn't have time to answer before Schmidt spoke again.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!" Schmidt declared as he and Zola moved towards an open door.

"Then how come you're running?" Steve called back. Schmidt only smirked before he entered and the door closed behind them.

Another explosion rocked the building, but Bucky felt steadier on his feet. Marginally. Steve stepped up next to him and they started for the stairs. Bucky flinched when the flames leapt up suddenly, almost right in front of him and Steve grabbed him, pulling him back easily. The blond looked around the room rapidly before he saw something.

"Up, go up." Steve insisted as he pushed Bucky towards the stairs. The brunet had to use the railing to keep himself going. Another blast made him stumble, but he recovered quickly (especially since Steve helped steady him). And then they made it to the floor above and Bucky was able to see what Steve had. A gantry that spanned the distance between the two bridges.

"Alright, go. One at a time." Steve insisted. Bucky wanted to argue, but Steve was already lifting him over the railing. He moved across carefully but as quickly as he dared. Multiple explosions nearly sent him falling and a glance down said that would only result in death. It looked like a sea of fire beneath his feet.

He was just past halfway when the whole thing suddenly dropped a few inches. It was coming loose from its moorings. Bucky took a moment to find his balance and took a few more steps before it happened again, falling further. He ran. He had to leap the last few feet and collided with the metal railing of the other catwalk hard enough it took his breath away, but he hadn't fallen. He swung over the railing and glanced down. The whole gentry had fallen away, claimed by the fire, and there was nothing for Steve to use to get across.

"There's gotta be a rope or something!" He shouted as he started looking around almost frantically for one. For anything. But there was nothing nearby. Nothing that he could use to help Steve… help his _soulmate_ across. Another explosion rocked the whole building and a glance at the cracks appearing in the ceiling and walls said the building's lifespan was not much longer.

"Just go! Get out of here!" Steve suddenly shouted and Bucky whirled around to face him, grabbing the railing tightly like that would help somehow.

"No!" He was pissed Steve would even think to suggest that. There was no chance in hell Bucky was leaving him behind. "Not without you!"

Steve faltered. He looked ready to argue, but didn't. Instead he let out a breath and started pushing on the metal bars that had been bent out when the gentry had fallen. Moving them out of the way. Bucky gripped the metal tighter, because was Steve crazy?! Did he really think he could make that jump?! Steve had stepped back and taken a flying leap even before Bucky could say a word about it being suicide.

For a moment he thought maybe. Maybe Steve would make it. But then it because obvious he wasn't. Bucky could see it. So he leapt over the railing and held onto it with one hand as he stretched the other out towards Steve. And thankfully caught him. Bucky couldn't help crying out as Steve pulled him downward, and pulled his shoulder from it's socket with a small pop. He managed to keep his grip on the railing with his other hand, barely, but both his knees had buckled and slid under the lower part of the railing while his ribs impacted the metal walkway. Which actually helped him, because it meant he wasn't trying to hold up Steve with only his own strength and most of his body was supported by the catwalk instead. Bucky took a small breath and tried to lift Steve up.

He knew it wasn't going to happen almost instantly. He wasn't strong enough yet to basically dead lift Steve with one arm, let alone one with a now dislocated shoulder. He abandoned the effort and caught a glimpse of Steve's face. The blond was concerned, obviously. "Bucky, let go. I'll drag you down with me." Steve insisted desperately and Bucky shook his head as he grit his teeth. No chance in hell was he letting go.

He considered it quickly and, after adjusting the angle, then started swinging Steve side to side. The first swing hurt, but after the suffering he'd had the last few days it was nothing. It took a few attempts to get his soulmate high enough but then Steve was able to get a hand on the railing. Steve let go and pulled himself up quickly while Bucky slumped a little.

"Buck, come on." Steve insisted as the building shook again. Bucky nodded and wiggled under the railing because he doubted he could get himself up and over it. Steve helped him to his feet as soon as he was safely on the catwalk and Bucky had to rely on him to stay upright as he fought the dizziness plaguing him. Almost before he could recover Steve was moving, helping him along.

Bucky was still in a daze as they made it outside. There was still fighting going on here, between the 107th and the HYDRA goons, but it was fairly obvious who was winning. Steve took out a few nearby enemies and Bucky swiped a two-handed gun from one of them. He couldn't hold it properly, not with his shoulder dislocated, but it was better than being unarmed.

"You made it!" A familiar voice called and Bucky looked up to see Falsworth in the gunner's seat of a tank. He had been addressing Steve but paused when he saw Bucky. "Sergeant! Glad you're okay!" He added and Bucky smiled. He was glad to see his friend was okay too.

"We need to go!" Steve shouted up as he moved into an easy jog to keep pace with the moving tank and Falsworth nodded. Bucky took the moment, since Steve was distracted, to pop his shoulder back into place before he quickly hurried after them. It didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it should.

"We were on our way to blast open the gate now." Falsworth informed Steve.

"Excellent. Let's go!" Steve ordered loudly, loud enough his voice carried even more the sounds of the nearby fight. Bucky couldn't help faltering for a moment. Steve looked… comfortable. In his element and totally in control. It wasn't a bad thing, not by any means, but Bucky had never seen him like that before.

There were a lot of men who fell in around them, trailing alongside and behind the tank as it blasted their way to freedom. Since his shoulder was working once again he helped fight; took out enemies easily enough with a minimum of bullets, even at a distance. Had his vision been this good before? His aim was better too. He didn't get every shot he made but there were definitely a few that were a little too accurate to just be luck.

He doesn't mention it. Not to Steve, not to anyone. When he realized his body, and especially his shoulder, are mostly healed by the time they walk the few hours back to base, he still doesn't mention it. When they go to take down HYDRA and he gets hungry more quickly and stops feeling so cold at night. When he realizes his allergies have stopped acting up and he just isn't getting sick. When he heals from a knife wound practically overnight. He doesn't mention it.

And it's only after he's fallen. After he wakes up in so much pain his body is numb because his brain can't process it. After he notices his left arm is just gone. After he realizes that Steve isn't coming for him because the Soviets find him lying in the snow first. That's when he realizes maybe… Maybe he should have mentioned it. At least he still has his soul mark.


	5. Manifest

**Full warning: This one-shot deals with serious stuff like self hate and depression. Please don't read if it might negatively affect you!**

* * *

Steve hates himself. He doesn't tell people that, of course. Doesn't tell people that is the reason why he is always in his Manifested form. Because that would inevitably lead to a discussion about Bucky. He hates his Manifested form, which of course means it will never go away because it was self hatred that manifested it. Steve hates how utterly perfect it is; he is big and strong and healthy and attractive and everything anyone could ever want. Everything _he'd_ wanted all his life.

Until he got it.

Because Bucky had never seen his Manifested body. Had never touched it. Had never smiled at it or poked fun or wiped away sauce from his mouth or any of the little things things he had experienced in his normal form. Steve had Manifested too late to save his friend by mere hours, and no matter how many policemen had told him otherwise he _knew_ Bucky's disappearance was his fault. And so he hates himself and is forever stuck in his despicably perfect Manifested form because he hates it too.

But his Manifested form is very powerful and he doesn't care if he lives or dies so he spends his time doing what should be suicide missions to save others. Whatever SHIELD requires. He's rescued impossible prisoners, taken down high risk terrorists, infiltrated dirty companies; once he'd even walked right into a meeting of top HYDRA personal and shot the region's leader in the face. None of it made him hate himself any less, but at least it eased the gaping black hole in his chest that had sucked in all the rest of Steve's life. The one titled 'I'm the reason my best friend went missing'.

Sam doesn't know, but he is nice enough to let Steve crash on his couch after a mission when he doesn't feel like going to the Tower. Natasha doesn't know, but she's kind enough to bring him food and water when he forgets to eat. Tony doesn't know, but he still takes the time to drag Steve down to his lab and crank up the music or talk until Steve doesn't feel so cold inside. Clint doesn't know, but he's never told anyone about the three times he caught Steve on the edge of the roof late at night contemplating stepping off (and silently kept him company until he stepped back). Wanda doesn't know, but she always puts English subtitles on her Sokovian films when she finds him listless on the couch.

It's pretty likely they know there's something. But they don't know the truth. That Steve deserves to feel this way. He'd been the idiot. He'd been rash and inconsiderate and a fool. And he was the reason Bucky was gone. Brilliant Bucky Barnes whose incredible Manifestation had given him the unbelievably rare ability to command others to do anything, but despite Manifesting so very young he had never used it for his personal gain. Never took away someone's free will, unless they were going to hurt themselves or others. Never made things easier for himself or took advantage, despite how many people had tried to take advantage of him.

And Steve was one of them.

He'd taken advantage of Bucky more than anyone. Always knew that Bucky have his back, no matter how dangerous the situation was that Steve got himself into. Relied on Bucky for everything from food and a roof to his medicine and emotional support when his mom passed away. And then he'd asked Bucky to use his Manifestation to help an un-Manifested Steve get into the army when they wouldn't take him.

It was the only time Bucky had ever shouted at him. Usually Bucky's anger was icy, contained in sharp glares and cold expressions and ruthless action. It wasn't until about a week after that Steve realized the truth; Bucky hadn't shouted because he was angry. He'd shouted because he was afraid; he was trying to protect Steve from himself like always, but this time Steve hadn't noticed or cared. Just screamed back, demanding more than anyone had the right to of his friend. Bucky had stopped talking and left abruptly after that, without his phone or wallet or jacket. He'd barely paused long enough to shove shoes on his feet.

Steve had been fuming for hours, unable to sleep because of it. It wasn't until the sun had started to rise that Steve even recognized something was wrong with the fact that Bucky hadn't come back. He called everyone, even the people on Bucky's phone Steve didn't know. No one had heard from or seen him and the police hunt that began a day later had turned up nothing more than one security video of Bucky sitting on a curb on an empty street, head in his hands. Steve didn't even need years of familiarity to see how tortured Bucky was in that video. He was there for about a half hour, had barely even shifted the whole time, then the camera had cut out for just four minutes. Four measly minutes. Just long enough for Bucky to be abducted.

Steve watched it whenever the hole in his heart started to feel a little too good. Because he didn't deserve to feel whole again, not after what he'd done. And no matter how powerful his Manifested body was he couldn't find Bucky without any leads or direction. It was a cold case, just like the hole in his chest. And Steve wanted it that way.


	6. You Can't Hurt Me - Bucky

The Winter Soldier never missed. He just _didn't_. And he didn't miss this time either. The target was unnamed but blond, tall, and muscular, dressed in a ridiculous uniform the Soldier found oddly... endearing. The target was at some kind of public event and there were a lot of people around. But the Soldier knew what to do; always knew what to do. Knew how to get to a good vantage point and how to disappear after taking the shot without getting noticed, even with this many witnesses. Except, this time was different. Because the bullet literally just bounced off the target's chest with a strangely cartoonish 'plink' that played only in his head.

The target didn't even _notice_.

After a momentary shock he adjusted slightly and tried again, this time aiming for the target's uncovered head because it was possible the man just had really good body armor. And again the bullet simply bounced off (without the insulting mentally added 'plink' sound). This time the target noticed it though, unsurprisingly considering the bullet _should_ have gone through the center of the target's forehead. Even more disturbing was the way the target's eyes landed on him. Not near him. Without searching for him. The target looked directly at the scope and into his eyes like the distance between them was inches and not actual miles.

He fled. The Winter Soldier never fled, but he did now. He was packed up and down from his roost in under a minute. The people on the streets seemed confused, asking one another what was going on at the stage, but nobody questioned him. He slipped through the crowds without much hassle, kept his head down so his hair hid his face from any cameras, didn't run, and didn't fidget or look behind him no matter how tempting it was.

His hearing gave him some indication of what was happening. Someone, or more likely multiple someones, were coming in his direction. Or at least in the direction of where his roost had been. A block from the spot police cars blew past from the other way, heading for the same location. No one stopped him or even looked at him twice. And for the first time he was pretty sure ever, the Soldier actually felt relieved when the black car that had been waiting for him came into view.

The car door opened from the inside and he got in without even needing to pause his steps. Their driver, someone the Soldier could swear up and down he knew but didn't know how, pulled away from the curb and they were off down the street. The car was utterly silent aside from the others agents breathing and the natural sounds that came with driving. The Soldier could only call the feeling he had 'unease'. His fingers itched for a gun or knife, something familiar that he understood. A consistent he could trust.

But drawing weapons without the intent to use it on a target, clean it, or hand it over was forbidden while in the presence of agents or handlers. Especially handlers, but there wasn't one in the car with them. Nor was there one waiting at the designated safe-house. The Soldier was grateful that standard procedure after a mission was to let him clean up and take care of his weapons undisturbed.

The apartment had several rooms and one had been designated as his. He closed the door behind him, which might get him in trouble if any of the agents happened to mention it, but he needed the privacy to think. It was automatic for him to sit down on the ground and take apart the rifle, clean it, and put it away in its proper case rather than the disguised one he'd used for the mission. Though he hadn't used them he checked his other weapons too, every gun and knife on his person.

He took a breath and let it out slowly, his eyes closed. He felt more secure now, safer, but the unease had not totally faded. Taking another breath he thought back over what he'd been told of the mission. The target, who he'd been given a picture of, was classified as Level 10. Highly dangerous. Hence why he'd chosen a roost so far away. He'd been warned the target was enhanced not unlike himself, which meant he was stronger, faster, and had increased healing compared to the average human.

But could it account for the way the target had looked so directly at him? It would have helped, certainly. The Soldier could locate sounds from over two miles away with near pinpoint accuracy just by hearing them, but even he wouldn't have been able to instantly identify the origin of a silenced sniper shot from that far away like the target had. The target hadn't _really_ seen him, that much he was sure. From the distance he'd been, at most the target might have seen movement. Maybe he could have noticed the reflection of sunlight on the gun, but the Soldier been careful to avoid letting that happen.

The Soldier's mind kept coming back to the target's eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes that had momentarily taken him aback when he'd first seen them. As he cataloged the man's expressions that he'd witnessed during the event he knew with a strange certainty that the target disliked public speaking, despite the brilliant smile the target had plastered on. He'd seen the way the man's expression changed from a political smile to battle-ready determination in an instant after the second shot. The way his eyes had lit up in excitement.

And why? Why had the bullets just bounced off? Maybe, maybe the Soldier could argue the target had worn body armor that could bounce his bullets off like it had. The man was certainly large enough for it to be hidden under his red, white, and blue suit. But his forehead? The helmet offered minimal protection at best and certainly couldn't have bounced the bullet off the way it had. Something else was going on.

Even as lost in his thoughts as he was he wasn't startled by the gentle knock on the door, having heard the agent's footsteps pause outside. ⸢⸢Солдат, есть еда.⸣⸣ The man offered. The Soldier stood and the man, the youngest of the team, jumped out of his way when he opened the door. The Soldier barely paid him a glance as he walked past and he knew the man had slumped in relief against the opposite wall.

It seemed distantly familiar, newcomers being frightened of him, but the Soldier had more pressing thoughts. The conversations in the living room quieted as he entered and the driver offered him a box with a fork on top. He took the offered container and returned to his room, sitting on the floor once again. He ate quickly, barely even tasted the noodles, and his body practically sighed in pleasure as the food reached his stomach. He hadn't eaten for hours and though the mission hadn't been physically taxing his body required more frequent nutrients than the average person.

Setting aside the Styrofoam container he quickly stripped out of the civilian clothes he'd been given for this mission and it took only a little longer to get all his holsters off, though he brought some of his weapons with him into the bathroom. He only felt truly naked without something nearby to protect himself, despite the metal arm that was a weapon all on its own. Today more than usual, the idea of being unarmed unsettled him. Showering, though, felt... fantastic. He always took his time when he could. He actually loved the process of it; of scrubbing the oil from his hair and even conditioning it. Of cleaning himself step by step, letting the water wash away the dirt, sweat, and often blood that collected on his skin. Of shaving, carefully making sure there was no stubble left that could be irritated by the mask. Keeping himself groomed and clean was therapeutic.

Hair soft, skin clean, and newly shaven he got out and dried off. His hair was still damp but no longer dripped when he stepped back into his room. A quick sweep with more than one of his senses confirmed no one had entered. He had not expected anyone to do so. In his duffel bag was a set of casual clothes not unlike those he had worn for the mission, but these were softer, all black, and modified to hide his weapons as well as give him protection ordinary clothes wouldn't. They also left his left arm fully exposed, for better range of motion. He put on his hidden holsters and weapons first, followed by the clothes, and a few more weapons on the outside.

After sweeping the room again, tucking his rifle under the bed where no one could get it without waking him, and checking the window, he knocked on his door twice with the metal knuckles. The sound was unmistakable and he heard the way the conversations from the living room paused but by the time he moved towards the bed they had resumed, slightly softer than before. He laid down on his stomach, the gun from his belt in his right hand which he tucked under the pillow.

The choice of position was instinctual, but familiar. He had seen the other agents sleeping on their backs and had tried it briefly their first night here, but the position had immediately sent an inexplicable icy fear through his veins. He didn't try it again. But even like this, on his stomach with a gun in his hand, the weight of his weapons comforting him, sleep urging him into its embrace, the room quiet and secure, and his eyes closed; that unease he'd felt since meeting the target's eyes lingered.


	7. You Can't Hurt Me - Steve

"It was him, Natasha!" Steve was aware he was almost shouting; he'd stopped caring who at a while ago. The Avengers living room, which usually felt wastefully large, was claustrophobic as Steve paced the floor. His blood was singing and his skin itching with the need to move. To get out and go after…

"Steve." Natasha tone was placating, calm, and Steve glanced at her. "It wasn't him, you know that." Natasha insisted with all the gentleness of a mother holding her newborn baby and Steve could only tsk as he started pacing again.

"How else do you explain it then? I _saw_, Natasha. The bullet came so close I was cross-eyed and then it just didn't hit me. And the second bullet they found that I didn't even feel? How do you explain it besides Bucky?" Steve had been repeating the same thing for hours, ever since the initial rush of adrenaline from being shot at had faded enough he wasn't in survival mode.

Natasha sighed but didn't offer anything for a long while. "I don't know, Steve." She finally said. Steve heard her, just barely, over his own thoughts.

"Maybe it was something Zola did? That helped him to survive the fall? I mean, it's supposed to feel unmistakable when your soulmate dies, right? And I never felt anything like that." Steve said and Natasha gave him a look.

"With your serum it could be different, Steve. You know that." She reminded and Steve barely held himself back from waving her off.

"Everything else was the same. Whenever Howard had new gear Bucky and I tested them on each other first because no matter what we couldn't hurt one another, even if the gear failed. Nat, I could find him anywhere. In any sized crowd or any sized facility. Even at Azzano. I know, for a fact, that it was Bucky. I don't know what happened to him or why he was shooting at me, but I know it was him." Steve said.

Ordinarily, Steve would have been amazed that Natasha was worn enough to look to Clint for help. As it was, his thoughts were consumed by Bucky and what kind of nightmare he must have gone through to get to the point he'd shoot his own soulmate. Steve's steps faltered at the thought because why? If Bucky had known him, why would he take the shot? He would have known he'd never be able to kill Steve even if he wanted to. Steve's stomach sunk as he realized Bucky must not have known him. It was the only thing that made sense. Something had happened to make him forget and Steve was more sure than ever that they needed to find him. Now.

"Steve." Steve looked at Clint, who studied him for a moment before he sighed heavily. "Okay. Whether we believe you or not, we _do_ need to capture that sniper. If you believe it's Bucky and you can really find him anywhere, led us to him. Then we'll know for sure and if it is Bucky we can take out two birds with one stone; capturing the sniper and getting Bucky somewhere safe where we can help him." Clint said and Steve couldn't help relaxing.

"Thank you." He practically whispered and Clint nodded. Steve glanced around the room; at Natasha who stood with her arms crossed and a slight frown on her face, at Clint who looked ready to help, at Bruce who looked concerned, and at Tony. Who met his gaze without faltering and just nodded.

"Let me grab a suit and we can take one of the cars." Tony decided and Steve swallowed around the knot that had formed in his throat as he nodded back.

They broke apart just long enough to get suited up before meeting in the garage. Tony took the driver's seat of one of his less conspicuous cars while Steve claimed the passenger's. Clint and Natasha took the backseat and while Bruce saw them off, he'd be remaining at the Tower on backup. They left and Steve took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He couldn't explain how it felt other than there was a magnet pulling his whole being in one direction and it took little effort to focus on it.

"That way." He directed and Tony started driving. The car was unusually silent; Tony didn't play any music, Clint and Natasha weren't discussing tactics in the back seat. Steve concentrated on the pull, feeling the minute shifts in direction as Tony wove back and forth through the streets, going the way Steve had first pointed out. Steve didn't think Bucky was moving and wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It felt like the last time Bucky had been this still for so long had been at Azzano and Steve could still feel his rage surge when he thought about how many days leading up to the rescue Bucky hadn't moved, how many days he'd been strapped to Zola's table, which Steve hadn't even noticed until after.

As they got closer the pull got, not weaker or stronger per say but Steve could just tell when they were getting closer. Steve felt when they went too far, the pull shifting to behind him, and directed Tony back. It took a few loops before Steve knew exactly where it was and his body was humming with the need to rush in. Tony parked down the street and Steve looked towards the building he could feel Bucky's pull from. The apartment building was ordinary and Bucky was several stories up, on this side of the building. That was as much as Steve could tell without getting closer.

Natasha had leaned forward between their seats and was studying the building. "He's not going to be alone. What's the plan for getting him out of there?" She asked.

Steve hesitated, because he had a plan. He just knew that his teammates would absolutely hate it. As if they knew his thought three eyes landed on him, waiting for him to elaborate. "I think… I should go in alone." Steve said and as expected all three of them jerked.

"Not a chance, Steve!" Tony objected first, and loudest.

"Are you kidding me? The man shot you earlier today and you want to face him alone?" Clint added, almost over the top of Tony.

Steve held up a hand and both men quieted. "That's exactly why. Something obviously isn't right with him. He doesn't remember me or he wouldn't have bothered shooting. But _he still can't hurt me_. Even if we fight. But you guys he can and I'd never forgive myself if I got you hurt. Just give me a chance." Steve pleaded.

Tony looked ready to object and so did Clint, but Natasha spoke before either man could. "Okay. But the second we think there's trouble we're coming after you." She warned.

Tension Steve didn't even realize he had faded and he smiled at her. "Thank you." He said softly before he put in his comm and got out of the car, shield in hand. It was late enough there was no one around to see him, but he moved quickly to the building. Being this close to Bucky after so long was almost painful, but Steve knew for certain Bucky was in one of the rooms closest to the wall Steve was facing.

Even if there had been a fire escape, Steve wouldn't have used it because it would have been far too loud. But as it was he had to make do with scaling the building and the sparsely placed bricks that extended out from the rest of the wall. Only a superhuman would be able to climb them, which was probably why this building had been chosen. Thankfully Bucky was only on the third floor, and the sensation of being so close almost punched the air from Steve's lungs when he lept to the right window.

He took a breath, because once he got inside he'd have to move fast. Forcing the window was easier than he expected, and quieter, and Steve dashed to the form on the bed. Before he could reach it and pin Bucky so they could talk, Steve found himself being held by the throat by a metal hand. He hit the ground surprisingly quietly and Bucky muffled his "oomph" with his other, human hand.

The eyes that met his were achingly familiar and also not. They were Bucky's, down to the last flecks of gray that had frequently made Bucky's eyes more silver than blue. They were just as intelligent. Just as sharp, not missing a detail. But these eyes held none of the warmth, none of the happiness or fear or compassion or love or even familiarity that Steve was used to. They held none of the _life_ Bucky's had.

Steve slowly forced the tension in his body away as Bucky continued to hover over him, unmoving. The metal hand was wrapped around his throat and Bucky sat heavily on his chest, keeping him in place, while the other hand remained over his mouth. But Bucky didn't move, didn't tighten the metal hand or call out to alert the others Steve had no doubt were there. His eyes lingered on Steve's for a long time and Steve studied him back. His face was practically identical to before, except for the long hair now framing it. And Steve could see the way the perfectly formed, ripcord muscles moved under Bucky's clothes that he hadn't had before.

Steve could have looked forever, but Bucky seemed to find whatever he was looking for and moved the hand covering his mouth. It reached behind Bucky and came back with a gun that the brunet pressed to his head.

Steve didn't tense. Didn't even feel the need to because he knew Bucky couldn't hurt him. Bucky seemed to know it to as he swallowed hard and leaned down, putting his face very near to Steve's. "I know you're enhanced. Can you hear me?" He practically mouthed the words, but in the nighttime stillness Steve heard him and even better the others in the apartment wouldn't. The downside was that Natasha, Tony, and Clint wouldn't be able to hear them either.

"Yes." Steve replied in the same hushed way. Bucky shifted slightly and his flat expression broke briefly to reveal that Bucky was uncomfortable, nervous even. "You shot at me." Steve said and he nodded.

"But the bullets didn't hit. Why?" Bucky demanded and Steve became abruptly aware that this man, who had Bucky's face, who copied his mannerisms, who was the Bucky his body was humming in satisfaction at having so close again, really didn't know him. At least not in the way Steve knew him.

"You're my soulmate." Steve answered and Bucky frowned, looking away. His eyes were moving rapidly like he was reading something, but Steve could tell he was thinking deeply. Finally, slowly, those silver-blue eyes turned back on him.

"I don't know what that is." He said and Steve limited his reaction to a sharp inhale, but he really wanted to cry. But Bucky was obviously waiting for an answer so Steve started talking.

"It means that I'm yours and you're mine. It means we can't hurt each other and it means we always know where the other is. It means when one of us dies the other will feel it and that we'll be together even in the afterlife." Steve offered. Bucky's frown grew, but Steve kept talking. "It means that I'll always look after you just like you have me. And it means that I love you. That I always have loved you and that I always will."

The metal hand jerked back suddenly like Bucky had been burned, and the gun was withdrawn as well. Bucky looked almost frightened, his breathing heavier than before. He glanced at the door then back to Steve. "Do I know you?" The words were almost a plea and Steve cautiously reached up, gently lining Bucky's jaw with his hands.

"Yes. And I know you." Steve promised, a smile playing on his lips as hope bloomed in his chest. Bucky opened his mouth a couple of times, but never actually said anything. So Steve kept talking. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You were born March 10, 1917 in Brooklyn, New York. And you and I have been best friends and soulmates for almost 90 years. You're my Bucky and I'm your Stevie, 'til the end of the line."

"Stevie." He echoed even more softly and Steve nodded, fighting back tears at the warmth in the word. "Stevie." Bucky repeated, more to himself this time. Steve didn't flinch when Bucky reached out and touched his face with his human hand. "I know you." He whispered and Steve nodded a little, careful not to dislodge the hand on his cheek because that touch was soothing his soul.

After a moment Bucky inhaled deeply and pulled back. He glanced at the door again and seemed to debate something for a few moments before he looked back at Steve. Steve reached out and touched his cheek, just the same as Bucky had him only moments before. "Come with me. Come _home_ with me." He pleaded.

Bucky studied him for a moment, then nodded once. Steve could have cheered. Bucky got off of him with the sort of grace that came from years of fighting, of knowing exactly how and what his body could do and being confident in it. The only one Steve knew who came close to moving like that was Natasha, but Bucky was on another level and it was like nothing Steve had ever seen from his brunet. But the questions and staring could wait.

Steve stood slowly, unwilling to startle Bucky into calling for help, and his eyebrows raised as Bucky drew a duffel bag from under the bed. Steve took in Bucky's body. The metal arm extended all the way to his shoulder and disappeared under the trimmed sleeve of his black shirt. It was a bit strange to see someone in plain black sweatpants and tee-shirt with weapons holstered seemingly everywhere. If Steve wasn't wrong, he even caught sight of a few hidden ones under the pajamas.

But Bucky just pulled the duffel over his shoulder and nodded at the window. Steve wasn't about to argue and slipped out as quietly as he had entered. Only this time, when he jumped to a lower handhold, Bucky slipped out after him. They reached the ground in moments and Bucky just looked to Steve, waited for him to lead the way. Steve was so tempted to kiss the brunet right there, but his earpiece abruptly came to life with voices and he realized that the signal had been blocked in the apartment.

Steve actually flinched, because he'd gotten used to the barely-a-whisper voices he and Bucky had been speaking with, but the pain was worth it when Bucky silently snickered at him. Steve rolled his eyes and nodded at the street, ignoring the voices in his ear that quieted as soon as they stepped out of the alleyway. Bucky tensed slightly as they neared the car and Steve couldn't help reaching for his human hand, couldn't help lacing their fingers together.

Bucky looked down at their clasped hands like he was confused at first, but slowly he relaxed a little and even more importantly he didn't pull free. Steve knew they had a long way to go and a lot that they needed to talk about, but Bucky was back at his side and willing to hold his hand and come what may, they'd have each other from here on out. Because Steve was never going to leave his best guy behind again and if the way Bucky held onto his hand Bucky wasn't about to leave him either.


	8. Blessed (Part One)

They were in the woods not far from a battle. The sounds from it were intense and their little squad probably should have been worried, but their bigger concern at the moment was finding clean water. They hadn't had any in almost two days. Actually, they'd just found water; a whole tub of it in fact. That wasn't the problem. The problem was it was contaminated and they had no way to cleanse it.

Well, Bucky did. And as he glanced around at his squad's faces, taking in the pale skin and depressed expressions, he knew it was worth exposing his secret. They were all exhausted and they needed this water desperately. Bucky sighed and knelt next to the metal bin. It had been a while since he'd asked for anything, but he knew Steve could do this much. Even as far away from the ocean as they were.

He dropped his fingers into the cold water and was met with a warm embrace. What felt like fingers caressed his hands with tender, welcome touches. _"Hello, Steve."_ He thought, prayed, and the water hummed with Steve's pleasure in response, sending a wave of warmth down his spine. _"I know this is a small thing, but could you purify this water for us?"_ He requested.

A tingling sensation started in his chest and spread through his arms down to his fingers then into the water. It went from concerningly murky to perfectly clear almost instantly and Bucky smiled._ "Thanks, Stevie." _He prayed, and it felt like someone kissed his fingers. He pulled his fingers out and sat back panting, because no matter how used to the feeling he was and no matter how strong his blessing, it didn't change the fact that a Primordial's power had just coursed through his very mortal body.

"Oh my god, Bucky, how did you do that?" 'Dum Dum' Dugan was the first to notice and the first to speak up. Bucky flashed him and the others a smile.

"I'm blessed. A water god. Thought maybe he could purify the water and…" He gestured to the tub of fresh water as if to say 'see?'. "Drink up, guys." He added and after a moment they fell on the tub like hounds. Not that Bucky could blame them. He let the others have their fill before he drank some himself, using his hands to cup the water because he loved feeling Steve connected to him and because it was amusing to watch the other guys stare as not a drop slipped from between his fingers.

The water was more than just refreshing. Bucky could feel it warming him and healing him from the inside out. _"Don't push yourself too hard, Stevie."_ Bucky warned and he felt Steve's laughter like it was a physical thing, followed by the sensation of someone caressing his hands still dipped into the water. He didn't get actual words, but the answer was simple; I'm not.

_"Thanks again, Steve." _Bucky thought, to which Steve actually massaged his wrists, even pushed the water up to reach a little further up his arms before it slipped back into the water and Bucky pulled his hands free, brushing off the excess onto his trousers.

"Jesus, Bucky. How powerful is your god?" Morita asked and Bucky just shrugged. He wasn't sure how to answer, because telling people you had been blessed by _The_ Primordial God of Water wasn't exactly wise. But he didn't get a chance to say anything as bullets and blasts of blue energy suddenly exploded through the area.

Bucky ducked behind the tub of water and everyone else dove for cover nearby. As soon as the bullets stopped he drew his gun and started firing back, as did his squad. It was a fierce confrontation, but short. Many of the goons they were facing had the strange, extremely powerful blue-powered weapons Bucky had seen once or twice before in the field, but now they almost all seemed to have them and they were far stronger than bullets.

"Surrender." He was ordered at gunpoint. His own weapon was still in his hand but he knew pointing it at the man threatening him would result in his instant death. He glanced around at his squad. Dugan had been wrestled to the ground by two of them. Falsworth, Jones, and Dernier were all being held at gunpoint nearby and unarmed. Morita still had his gun, but also had a bloody nose and a gun to his head.

Bucky swallowed, grit his teeth, and tossed the gun aside. "We surrender." He said as clearly as possible while he put up his hands. The man glanced at Morita, who met Bucky's eyes and got a nod before he tossed aside his own gun.

Immediately they were set into motion. Ordered to keep their hands on their heads as they were put in a line and marched quickly through the woods with guards on either side. Bucky was in front and hated it because he only had sound to use to tell how his men were doing. Dugan was definitely hurt because he kept groaning softly from just behind Bucky. Further away he could hear someone limping and someone was shuffling their steps, but he couldn't tell if it was the same person or not. But unless someone fell he didn't want to risk angering their guards to check so they kept on marching in silence through the trees.

They were slowly joined by other groups of prisoners, other squads who stayed loosely grouped together with the unlikely hope of being kept together. There were about 60 of them, and only about 45 guards, but the guards were well positioned and carried the special energy guns. They were marched through the night and by the time the sun was high enough to warm them Bucky knew he wasn't the only exhausted one. He was more thankful than ever for the water they'd managed to find because if they hadn't he certainly would have collapsed by now.

The base they reached was enormous and Bucky even knew its name because it had been tauntingly marked on their maps for ages. The place that prisoners couldn't be rescued from, no matter how close to the line it was. It was the place that POWs didn't come back from, didn't escape from. Were worked to the bone and supposedly even tested on. And where officers were tortured worse than anywhere else, if rumors were to be believed.

Azzano.

Bucky swallowed and refused to let himself show any fear. The men needed him to be strong so he would be. They were marched to a large patch of dirt and pushed into lines with an arm's length between each of them. Then a man stepped out of the building in front of them. He was older and had dark hair, stood tall and regal with a sleek expensive black uniform-esc outfit. There was an arrogance to his stance that made Bucky slightly jealous and it was obvious he was someone important. At his side was a stout nervous man in a white coat with glasses.

The taller looked them over almost disdainfully and Bucky, like most of the men, refused to bow his head to the man's stare. He stepped off the cement block and started walking between them, looking them over. He pointed out a few, who were immediately separated, and Bucky swallowed hard because it was basically everyone ranked above private.

When one of the sergeants in his row was pointed out, he made a grab at the man in black. He was thrown to the ground immediately and his shoulder snapped loudly enough it echoed as it was twisted in an unnatural angle. Bucky flinched as the man screamed in pain. He wasn't the only one. Two of the guards grabbed the man, dragged him out of the neat lines as he wailed, and shot him in the head.

Bucky couldn't watch. Just closed his eyes and swallowed hard when the man's body slumped to the ground, then kept his eyes closed as he took a breath through his nose before fixing his shoulders. A humm from in front of him made his eyes fly open and he almost flinched again as the taller man now stood in front of him, looking at his face closely. After a moment he called "Dr. Zola." The heavy accent startled Bucky for a moment, though he realized belatedly that it shouldn't have.

The stout doctor hurried over from where he had been looking over the other officers the man in black had pointed out. Bucky did his best to keep his expression as free from fear as possible as the short man looked him over and refused to meet either of their eyes, just stared past them determinedly at nothing. "Your arm, please." Dr. Zola ordered, with an accented voice that surprisingly wasn't German.

Bucky slowly lowered his left arm from his head and held it out. Dr. Zola ran his hands over it as he examined Bucky's muscles and Bucky had to resist the urge to shiver uncomfortably because the only one who'd ever touched him even remotely like this was Steve. Who was a totally different case. "Doctor?" The taller man asked and Zola nodded.

"Yes, he'll do wonderfully." Zola confirmed and immediately two of the HYDRA soldiers came and grabbed him by the biceps. Bucky didn't fight but they half dragged him over to the other group anyway. He risked a glance at his squad as he was taken past them. Dumdum looked furious. Morita had blood streaks from his nose, but it looked like it had stopped bleeding. He was concerned. Dernier was swaying slightly, clearly out of it, and looked a little too pale. Jones looked resigned. And Falsworth offered him the briefest flash of a smile.

Bucky could only nod slightly in reply before he was placed next to the other officers. They all stood there, hands on their heads, until the sun was high in the sky beating down on them. He was sweating, but it wasn't as bad as working a long summer shift in Brooklyn. Eventually they were taken into a building, a smaller separate one from the other soldiers, and Zola began directing the HYDRA soldiers in a language Bucky didn't know but could safely assume was German.

The other officers were taken off, one by one, and then Zola finally said something about him and it was his turn. They dragged him down the halls and Bucky couldn't help trying to memorize the way. Just in case. He doubted he'd get free, but it was better to know how to escape if the opportunity did arise. The room he was brought to was made of brick and separated into two parts. The first was an almost office space while the other was larger and contained an exam table with a strange metal contraption over it.

The guards stripped him of his jacket before he was secured to the table hard enough the straps dug into his skin. Once the guards had backed up he gave an experimental push against them, but they didn't give at all. He took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes. No matter what happened, no matter what they did, he was determined not to give up a word.

* * *

Bucky had no idea how long it had been, but he knew it had been at least days. Probably weeks. His whole body ached constantly and he felt like all his senses had been dialed up to twenty. It made everything painful; every sound made his eardrums throb, everything was like sandpaper on his skin, every light burned his retinas. At least he seemed to heal quickly from the torture wounds.

Too quickly, probably, but he'd stopped caring about the time the first injection's fever finally wore off and he realized that opening his eyes in anything other than the darkest of nighttime burned. This was the first day they had unstrapped him from the table though. They dragged him through the halls and Bucky struggled to keep his focus on what was happening to him as he could hear cries of pain coming from outside that he knew the guards couldn't hear.

They brought him to a room he'd never seen, with some kind of square cement box in the middle. It wasn't big enough to comfortably fit him in, but they could probably squish him inside if they wanted. Bucky really hoped they didn't.

One of the guards he recognized immediately, though whose name Bucky still didn't know despite the fact that aside from Zola this was the man he spent the most time with. The one who always asked actual questions about the war and the Allies and what they were doing. Who actually tortured him for information, instead of Zola's excruciating experiments. "You will answer me today." The man ordered.

"Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes, 107th, 32557." He replied firmly, prepared to keep repeating that mantra over and over until he either died or got out of here. The man didn't even let him finish speaking, though, before he kicked off the wooden cover from the cement square and suddenly it wasn't air Bucky was trying to breathe; it was water.

He jerked, having accidentally inhaled because he'd been speaking, and thankfully the guards pulled him back up immediately. He coughed out the water and was able to get a few breaths before they shoved him under again. This time he was better prepared, even if his head was still swimming, and he managed not to inhale any water though it was a near thing. When they pulled him it again he inhaled the air desperately and the man looked him over.

"Where are the nearest Allied bases to Azzano?" The man demanded and Bucky winced slightly at the sound because it was way too loud for his sensitive ears.

"Sergeant…" He started only to be shoved back underwater. He realized a couple of things immediately. One, it wasn't as loud as outside and did he ever love the quiet of being underwater. Two, the water was warmer than the first two times he'd been dunked, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just that he'd gotten used to it. And thirdly, he was in _water_. Water, meaning _Steve_.

_"Steve…"_ He had just started to pray when he was pulled back up and he felt the way the water clung to him like Steve was trying to keep hold of him. His body inhaled, but he only distantly noticed the burn in his lungs. Didn't hear if the man asked any questions. He just waited to be shoved back under and thankfully his request was granted.

Immediately the feeling of hands cradled his face. The touch was gentle, soothing, and possessive all at once. He knew Steve could feel his pain and in return he felt Steve's rage. _"I need help."_ He requested. _"Please, Steve."_ He begged, though he knew he didn't need to.

He felt Steve's grip on his face tighten minutely, not enough to hurt, and felt a kiss on his forehead. He didn't need words to know what it meant. 'I'm coming for you.' And that was enough to put a smile on his face.


	9. Blessed (Part Two)

Steve was furious. More so than he had been in recorded history. More so than maybe ever. The ocean responded to his rage instantly; the waves that normally lapped gently at shores were fierce and angry. The sea animals were restless and even the sky was roiling with storm clouds. He felt a little bad the way some of the innocent ships around the world were being buffeted, but only distantly. He didn't feel bad at all for crumpling a couple of the submarines on the opposite side of the mortal war from Bucky. He launched himself from the seabed to the surface in seconds and turned his eyes skyward.

"Sam. I need passage." He requested.

On a gust of wind Sam blew down to hover in the air in front of him. "Steve? What's going on?" Sam asked.

"I need passage. Now." Steve growled and Sam's eyes widened as multiple sharks rose to the surface and bared their teeth at him.

"Steve?" Sam asked cautiously, not because he didn't want to help his friend but because he wasn't sure he had ever seen Steve act like this.

"They are hurting Bucky." Steve growled and instantly it clicked. Sam held out his hand and Steve accepted it. "Thank you." Steve said and Sam nodded.

"Course. Come on. Let's go get your boy back." Sam promised. Then he summoned the wind and lifted them both up. They blasted through the air as fast as the winds could carry them and reached the shore in mere moments.

"I need water." Steve told Sam, who gently set them down on the sand. There were a couple of mortals around, but they were invisible to their eyes. The tendrils of water Steve called to himself, though... those, the mortals noticed. As they wrapped themselves around Steve he let himself become visible in as close to his godly form as he could without killing all the mortals in attendance. But they could certainly see him.

A couple quickly dropped to the ground in very low bows when they realized who he was but most just stared. He understood. Whether they thought him just an Ancient God or recognized him as a Primordial, it had been more than three thousand years since one had appeared publicly and visibly on Earth. But Bucky needed him and so he drew the water around him and started walking.

His footsteps covered miles in moments, but he needed no guide. He was always drawn to Bucky, no matter the circumstances, and could find his brunet anywhere. His destination was a cement construction, standing out like a black stain in the wooded area and Steve felt a prick of annoyance on Tony's behalf that someone had so crudely ruined the forest. But it was a raindrop in comparison to the ocean of anger already coursing through him.

His water ripped through the outer wall like it was paper. There were mortals in black suits who shouted and started running around the base when it exploded into rubble. But he walked through without hesitation, even as a few fools tried shooting at him. The shots didn't hurt in the slightest as the bullets bounced harmlessly off his skin but he narrowed his eyes in their direction anyway. It only took a thought for the tendrils to end them.

His water tore through metal cars and cement buildings, flesh and armor alike for all those in black. There were some men who were obviously different, hurt and weakened and abused by the others, and Steve recognized them as some of Bucky's allies. So he spared them. But the men in black were offered no such mercy. He reached the building where Bucky was in quick time; he could feel the brunet as easily as he could feel the water all around him.

He ripped down one wall, exposing various rooms including cells, labs, tables, and in one room in particular, Bucky. There were several men in black around him, but the two actually holding him dropped him when they saw Steve. Bucky shoved himself out of the small pool of water they'd been drowning him in and he coughed briefly before he looked up at Steve. Steve couldn't help feeling warmth in his chest when Bucky smiled when their eyes met.

But the warmth didn't stem the accompanying rage, because these men had hurt Bucky. Had given him bruises and hurt him and tried to drown him. Steve held out a hand and the men in black scrambled backwards as multiple tendrils of water shot into the room, separating Bucky from the others. Gently Steve used one to pick up his brunet and with a twist of his wrist Bucky was brought to his arms.

Steve held him close to his chest and Bucky gave him a small smile. "Hi, Stevie." Bucky muttered, exhausted and quiet. Steve smiled.

"Hello, Buck." He answered softly as well and he couldn't help but say it warmly.

"Thanks for comin' to get me." Bucky said, just as quietly as before, and Steve frowned. He called some water back to him and wrapped it around Bucky, allowed the water to tell him everything he couldn't see. Bucky was… different. That's what the water told him. The mortals had done something to him, changed him. Made him stronger and heightened his senses. His hearing was far better and it would hurt him to hear anything loud.

Bucky hummed pleasantly at the touch of the water that warmed itself for him without Steve needing to consciously command it to do so. Steve held him closer and warmed it further. "Of course I'd come for you." Steve promised softly and Bucky nodded sleepily.

"I'm so tired." He whispered and Steve kissed his head. It had been so long since he'd been able to do that physically and not just through a water connection. But the water was telling Steve Bucky was truly exhausted, dehydrated and starving and injured. He needed to rest.

"Sleep. I won't let any harm come to you." Steve promised and Bucky smiled, shifting slightly to curl into his chest.

"I know that, punk." He promised quietly before he fell asleep. Steve felt his worry settle in his chest just a little; Bucky was here, in his arms, and safe. Now he just had to insure that neither these men nor any others would ever be able to hurt Bucky again.

He slowly looked up towards the men in the room. They had gathered their wits once again and stood up. Steve glanced between them and was easily able to see which of them was in control of the group. A simple thought was enough to end the lives of the others and he wrapped the last up in tendrils of water, lifting him from the room until he was hanging in the air in front of Steve. Steve made the bonds tighten until the man was flinching.

"You hurt someone important to me." Steve stated and the man literally shuddered at the weight of the power in Steve's words. "I wonder what a fitting punishment would be, for a man who ordered the lover of a Primordial be tortured for something as petty as your mortal war." The man went unnaturally pale at the word Primordial.

"I didn't know. I didn't know." The man pleaded desperately but Steve wasn't feeling particularly merciful. He tightened the water further and the man cried out. "Please, please. I'm not in charge. The Red Skull and Dr. Zola. They're in charge. It was their decision. I just followed orders." He offered desperately.

"Perhaps. But you are not innocent either. The water tells me the truth and you enjoyed hurting him." Steve stated then ripped the man apart. The scream was probably horrific but Steve just let the pieces fall to the ground undeterred. He hadn't nearly satisfied the anger in his chest. Knew he wouldn't be until Red Skull and Zola both got their own taste of his vengeance.

He glanced behind him at the fight. His water had easily taken care of any of the men in black that had attempted to sneak up on him. Or that just passed within range. Or tried to escape. There were a lot of bodies around, but there were almost as many living. Those who Steve believed to be Bucky's allies. He lowered himself to the ground and walked up to them. Immediately the one who had been watching him bowed his head, as did everyone else.

Steve was pleased at least some mortals seemed to know manners. "You are his allies, yes?" Steve asked. The man glanced at Bucky and nodded.

"Yeah." He barely managed to say the word he was so awestruck.

"Then I have no quarrel with you." Steve started to turn, but the man spoke up.

"Forgive me, but are you taking Sergeant Barnes with you?" He asked before Steve could turn away. Steve narrowed his eyes and the water responded; tendrils rose into the air, ready to come to his aid if he needed them.

"Are you going to try and stop me?" Steve demanded and the man quickly shook his head.

"No. I just wanted to know so I could let the right people know. So they didn't think he deserted or something." The man explained and Steve nodded once. A low rumbling filled the air and Steve's head snapped towards the rocket that was attempting to take off.

It took no more than a thought for Steve's water to wrap up the propellers up and rip them to shreds. He moved himself towards the machine as he used the water to take it apart. The pilot appeared in the opening and he tried to jump down, but Steve caught him, all but encased him in water. The water told him that this man was different in the same way Bucky had become. He was enhanced, but no match for Steve.

Steve gave the man enough time to take in who he was, who he held in his arms, before he let the water take the man apart. The man's face came off in the process, revealing the red skull that no doubt stemmed his name. But Steve didn't care because now the man was very very dead, even if it hadn't been nearly as long or painful as Steve had wanted to make it. The men in black who were still alive had watched with gobsmacked expressions and now seemed more than ready to flee. Steve was willing to let them, with one exception.

He found Zola in a fancy car, struggling to start it. He lifted the scientist from it easily and pulled the man close to his face. Zola seemed more amazed than afraid of him. Steve studied him in return and found him unimpressive. "You are Zola?" Steve asked and the man nodded.

"Yes. And you are… a water god?" Zola asked and Steve frowned.

"I am the Primordial Water God." Steve corrected, and he was immensely satisfied with the way Zola paled. "And you hurt someone important to me." Steve warned.

Zola glanced at Bucky. "He was the ideal candidate for the serum. It made him more than mortal. The pain is a necessary part of the process." Zola offered and Steve tilted his head.

"He already was more than mortal. He has been more for a very long time, with my blessing, and because of you he can no longer go home to his family without suffering." Steve considered it than smiled as a dark thought came to him. "You are a scientist, yes? And you wish to witness what your serum has done? I'll give you the chance."

Steve wrapped them up in water and they rocketed back to the coast. The ocean welcomed him and Bucky. Bucky almost more so because it knew Steve, had known him for centuries, but Bucky was relatively new and the water knew that Bucky was special to him. Both of them were caressed by it, welcomed by it, and Steve placed a kiss on Bucky's lips to give him the ability to breathe underwater to save them trouble. Steve was also pleased when Bucky relaxed further as the water wrapped around them, like Bucky knew he was safe. And he was.

Zola did not receive the same greeting. The water felt Steve's hatred for him and responded accordingly. It made itself cold and dug against him, let Zola feel some of the pressure as they descended, made him struggle for every breath. Steve didn't even bother to correct it. He didn't want Zola dead, that was the whole reason for bringing Zola with them, but Zola wasn't going to die from just this. He wanted to make Zola pay for what he'd done and now he had the time.


	10. Field Test

The nightmares were less frequent with every healing session Bucky had with Shuri. It didn't mean he didn't still get them. Usually, they were things he at least somewhat remembered consciously; his numerous kills, time on Zola's table, the torture, the chair, cryo, the fall. But every once in a while something he didn't remember at all would pop up and catch him off guard.

Tonight was one such night. He'd actually been sleeping fairly well lately and hadn't had a panic attack or flashback in almost a week. It shouldn't have taken him by surprise that a nightmare would ruin his steak of good days, but it did.

His "field test", they called it. They wanted to be absolutely sure he could be trusted on solo missions. So they sent him to take out a target alone but had agents following him in secret. To observe or to keep things clean in case he failed or rebelled. At the time he hadn't realized the significance of his chosen target.

His target was in London, so it had involved some undercover travelling. The target was a member of a wealthy upper class family. The kill was to be done up close, with his knife or arm, which he was told to keep hidden until the kill was possible. They had said it would be easy to get close, to get the target alone. All he had to do was be seen then move to somewhere isolated nearby and he could complete the mission.

They were right.

The target had been leaning against a wooden porch fence in the early morning, drinking absentmindedly out of a steaming mug. He looked weary and his thoughts seemed far away as he looked at the sky. His face had been familiar, in a distant way, and at the time the Soldier had wondered if they had met before, a thought which made him slightly hesitant. But he did not ponder it for long. He had a mission and failure meant pain.

The mug had been dropped and subsequently shattered when he slipped from the shadows of the trees just far enough into the weak sunlight to be seen while keeping his left arm in shadow. For a long moment the target could only stare before he practically gasped the word "Bucky?" An unenhanced human wouldn't have heard it.

The Soldier slipped back into the treeline, knowing beyond a doubt that his target would give chase. He did. The man scrambled to follow, stumbling down the steps in his haste, and the Soldier led him into the woods. Just far enough away they wouldn't be easily overheard or found by accident. All the while his target called "Bucky! Bucky, wait!" over and over, desperate and almost pleading.

When the Soldier finally reached the location he'd chosen the night before, he stopped walking. Allowed his target to catch up. The man was breathless and his heartbeat had been elevated. He had to take a moment to catch his breath before he stepped cautiously closer. He seemed worried, but not for himself.

"Bucky? Is that really you?" He asked. The Soldier said nothing, just waited as his target got closer and closer. "How are you alive? It's been fifteen years. Why didn't you try to contact anyone?"

The questions made the Soldier's brain falter slightly, but then the target was in range. It took surprisingly little effort to jab the blade into his target's body, just under the third rib where he was sure it would puncture a lung. The stab took his target by surprise too; the man's eyes grew wide and after a moment blood bubbled from his mouth. The Soldier withdrew the knife and his target crumpled to the ground.

He reached for the Soldier weakly with one arm, a plea for help. The Soldier only watched. He knew he should leave, return to base, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. Instead, he stayed and watched as the color, then life, slowly drained from his target's face. Something in his chest had felt cold at the sight, almost ached.

It was only now he understood why.

Bucky barely made it to the toilet before he was throwing up. Not much came up; there was a reason he didn't eat in the evenings. He still felt nauseous as he rested his head against the cold porcelain. After a few breaths he forced himself to stand. He flushed the toilet and cleaned out his mouth before he left the bathroom.

Steve was outside his room, waiting by the door to their shared balcony with two mugs in his hands. One was offered to him and Bucky felt like a puppet on a string as he crossed the room and accepted it. Steve stayed mercifully silent as they settled onto the balcony, onto the chairs that had been put there specifically for nights like this.

Bucky hadn't liked tea as a kid, but it had been the only thing that helped settle his stomach during the war and now, when he remembered what he'd done for HYDRA. Looking into his teacup, at the almost honey colored water made exactly how the English did because that was who had taught both him and Steve how to make it… he was tempted to throw up again.

He quickly set aside the cup, a bit too roughly. He was surprised neither it nor the table broke. But his hand was shaking and he couldn't take another sip without being sick. Bucky pulled his knees in and curled into a ball on the chair as he tried to keep his trembling from being seen.

Steve was watching him out of the corner of his eye, obviously concerned but waiting for Bucky to be ready to talk. If he chose to talk at all; there were some things he couldn't share with Steve, but his friend would still sit in silence with him after a nightmare until it was time for breakfast and never ask what new hell had been drudged up.

Finally, after swallowing hard, Bucky spoke. It was quiet and he refused to meet his friend's eyes, but he knew Steve would hear. "I think I killed Monty."


	11. Dead Weight

It was the first time in, well, probably months that Bucky didn't feel like hell itself had taken him for a joy ride. He didn't really care what the break was for anymore, but if he had to guess it had something to do with the arm Zola had fucking _seared_ onto him only a couple of days ago. Yeah, that was an experience he never wanted to remember again. Today something was probably going to happen, though. Zola had been barking orders at the other HYDRA scientists for hours now as they scurried around him.

Bucky hated experiment days the most.

They were doing something with the metal arm, had it open and were messing with the inside. Bucky was thankful he couldn't feel anything from it since he was pretty sure they were doing some soldering given the sparks coming out. Eventually they closed it up and Bucky raised an eyebrow as he waited for the pain that didn't come right away. Because it was always pain.

This time it actually wasn't pain that jolted him though and that was nearly as startling. Like a punch to the gut he was hit with what he could only call 'feedback'. It was impossible to comprehend and yet at the same time made perfect sense. Like his human arm, he could feel where his metal fingers rested, knew how his hand was positioned, knew he was touching the table, felt the straps on his body. All in the vague but sensitive ways he was used to getting information from his limbs.

But he also knew _exactly_ how far apart his fingers were spread, how many centimeters down to exact the millimeters his palm was raised from the table. How much pressure, to several decimal places, he was exerting on each fingertip resting on the surface below his body. What temperature it was beyond just 'cold': he knew the exact degree. It was almost painful, the rush of such intricate information.

Zola was talking again, in something other than English, and Bucky didn't care to listen for familiar phrases like usual. Slowly, he tried moving the metal arm. Wiggled his fingers and was briefly amazed at the dexterity. Pushed up against the straps with a strength he didn't expect until suddenly they tore like wet paper. It was the same ease with which he'd seen Steve rip them off so many months ago and he hadn't even begun to push the arm's limits. Zola and the others in the room hadn't realized yet, but Bucky knew immediately.

This arm? It was _all_ he needed. He would be free. He moved quickly, flipping over the right side of the table so the metal arm could rip the other bonds away and free his other arm. The straps split like water. By then he'd been noticed but the two closest scientists were easy. His human arm crumpled one with a punch and the metal arm sent the other literally flying. He almost laughed. He felt practically giddy. They'd given him the very thing he needed to escape.

When one of the guards raised his gun it was instinct to throw up the metal arm to protect his head and to Bucky's utter surprise there was a clink as the bullet struck, but it didn't break. Didn't even dent the outer layer of metal plates. The flash of data he got basically told him it would take more force than any gun was capable of _to_ break it. Zola had given him a virtually indestructible metal arm.

Zola's shriek of "Don't shoot him!" reminded Bucky of the one thing he had to do before he ran. He felt like he was floating as he stalked across the room, feet barely touching the floor and his prey locked in his sights. Zola stumbled back fearfully and the guards who tried to stop Bucky went down like glass. And then his new metal arm was wrapped around Zola's throat. He had zero intentions of hesitating. The last thing Zola was going to see was his face with murder in his eyes.

It was amazing, the feedback he got from the arm and how quickly he could process it. Zola's temperature, his heart rate, exactly how much force it would take to crush his windpipe personalized for the scientist. All of it came to him in the near instant it took to wrap his fingers around Zola's throat.

And then his arm simply… stopped working. It went limp, the feedback gone. It left a strange emptiness in his mind. The arm dropped from Zola's neck as nothing more than a deadweight hanging from his shoulder and fuck, it was far heavier than he'd realized. It pulled where it was attached, made his collarbone throb, even dragged his left shoulder down. His shock was momentary and then he went for Zola with his human hand. His pause had been enough, though. He didn't get there.

Numerous hands grabbed him and dragged him backwards. He fought hard. He knew it wouldn't change the ending, but he wanted them to feel every goddamn _inch_. He broke one's nose with a backwards crack of his head and another went down with a broken knee that Bucky managed to kick out perpendicular to the way the man's knee was supposed to bend. He might have snapped one man's ribs, but he couldn't be totally sure with the wild elbow he'd thrown.

It wasn't enough. His metal arm was a deadweight. An anchor. Dragged him down and made him slow. And there were just so _many._

They slammed him into a chair and still he fought. Even snarled at Zola when he met the scientist's eyes for a moment; Zola looked excited and Bucky burned at that. Piece by piece they snapped metal clamps shut around his limbs. His arms and legs, his wrist, his chest and neck. Immobilized limb by limb until he could do nothing more than writhe.

And still Zola watched, pleased and smiling pleasantly. Bucky fucking hated that smile.

After staring at him for a long time Zola ordered "Bring me the interrupter." Immediately someone hurried out of the room. Bucky didn't want to know what 'the interrupter' was, but he was definitely about to find out.

"Should I ask what it does? Or it is a surprise?" Bucky asked sarcastically. His wit was about the only thing he had left to use and until they gagged him he was going to use it. It might not be the best option, but if he could strike the right nerve one of the guards might shoot him and put an end to this. At least that'd be quick.

"Actually, sergeant, you've already experienced it." Zola said as he moved over to a tray of medical equipment and started messing with something on the tray top. "It took some refining, of course, but now I think it's ready and I can't afford any more time trying to break you."

Bucky almost asked what Zola meant by the 'can't afford more time' comment but he was busy trying to remember everything Zola had done to him. He couldn't think of anything Zola had used on him that could be called an 'interrupter'. But it was something that could supposedly break him? Or worse, with the way Zola talked about it. That scared him.

The door opened and the man who had left came back, dragging a large battery-esc machine with something that looked vaguely helmet shaped attached to it. Bucky didn't know what it was or what it does and he really didn't want to find out. He knows he's going to anyway.

It was placed next to him and Zola started looking it over. After a few moments Zola picked up the helmet part and Bucky thrashed his head hard enough one of the guards came over and grabbed him, forcing him still as Zola maneuvered the parts of the helmet into place. The left side of his face was covered almost entirely, though his eye was exposed, and another piece covered most of his right cheek. It was painfully tight around his head.

Zola stepped back and studied him. Bucky glared at him as fiercely as possible. After a moment Zola said "Gag him. I don't want him to bite his tongue."

Someone seemed to almost instantly pull a piece of fabric from somewhere and quickly tied it around his head from behind, pulled it so tight in his mouth Bucky would have been surprised to find out the corners of his mouth weren't bleeding. Even so, if he were honest, it was more humiliating than painful. Finally Zola seemed satisfied as he stepped back. "Goodbye, sergeant. I think I will miss your colorful retorts. You have been a wonderful subject."

Zola's goodbye sent a chill of fear down Bucky's spine in a way he hadn't experienced since the time Steve got so sick one winter he'd been given his last rites. It almost happens in slow motion, Zola reaching over and pressing a button on the main part of the machine. Then every nerve in his body lit up and he knew exactly what Zola had been talking about. Way back at Azzano Zola had electrocuted him through nodes on his face and this was that, but a thousand times worse.

His scream was muffled and the gag caught his tears. His head throbbed and every part of him was twitching, except for the stupid, dead metal arm. He remained conscious longer than he thought anyone could while in that much pain and it was a relief when he finally passed out.

* * *

There was… a voice. A voice saying words. He didn't know the words, couldn't understand them. Was he supposed to? Should he know them? He didn't know the answer. Didn't have any answers, actually. His thoughts came to him slowly like crawling through mud.

Had he ever crawled through mud? He must have. He could taste it in his mouth and feel it against his skin. It was... irritating. It made him colder and weighed down everything; his clothes, his pack, his… gun? Everything about that image was right, except he couldn't recall any more. Why had he been in mud? How long ago? What color had his clothes been? Had there been a breeze? Who had he been with? What gun had he had?

But at the moment there wasn't any mud. He was sitting in a… chair? Yes, a chair. He could feel it against his butt and his back, holding his weight. He was bound to it. Cold metal clamps kept his limbs in place. He shifted a little. _Everything_ hurt. He knew he'd felt this kind of pain before but there were no details. No where or how or why. It just was something he knew he somehow had experience with.

"Soldier? Are you ready to comply?" He understood those sudden words, knew that language. Slowly he forced his eyes open, wondered if the question was directed at him (Was he Soldier? That didn't seem like a name, like his name, but that was what they called him so maybe it was?) The speaker was standing in front of him holding a red book, waiting for him to speak. The man's clothes were military and he was wearing weapons both visibly and concealed. He was not the only one in the room armed that way.

His, Soldier's, instinct was to simply answer 'yes' but that felt almost... informal. Wrong. He couldn't say why, but the thought of giving the wrong answer made his blood run cold. Sent phantom pains running through his limbs. "Ready?" He offered cautiously.

That seemed to be the right answer as the military man closed the book and stepped back. Another man took his place. Soldier knew this one, he _knew_ him. The white coat, the glasses… His left shoulder throbbed and his heart skipped a few beats, a combination of nausea and fear coursing through him. He couldn't help recoiling a little, leaning back into the chair as he tried to keep his expression neutral. He didn't know if he was meant to be afraid or not and did not want to get punished.

"Hello, Soldier." The man in the white coat said and for some reason that name felt even more wrong coming from this man. "Do you know where you are?"

Soldier shook his head with just the smallest movement. It made his stomach curl to answer but he couldn't think of why answering was such an awful thing to do. He just knew it was, and yet he'd answered anyway. Why? (He knew why; not answering would mean pain.)

The doctor (Doctor? Why was this man 'doctor'? He wasn't any different from any of the other white coated men in the room that Soldier felt were scientists) smiled a little at that. "Do you know who you are?" He asked next.

"Soldier?" He offered quietly, fear at answering wrong made his human hand tremble, and the doctor nodded without noticing. The trembling faded a little, knowing he'd answered in a way that wouldn't result in pain.

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. You are our Winter Soldier. Our most valuable asset." The doctor said.

He swallowed hard then softly offered "I don't remember." He didn't know if that was the right thing to say and he knew he was going to be hurt if he said the wrong thing. But he didn't know what the right thing was.

But the doctor's smile grew and he knew it was genuine this time. His fear eased a little; not remembering wouldn't get him hurt then. Good. It was something to work with, anyway.

"You were not meant to." The doctor said and he frowned a little. Because, what? That made no sense at all to him. Why would he not be meant to remember? "You were chosen for this. You are special in a way others are not and you cannot be held back by things like memories. You must only focus on your missions. Do you understand?" The doctor asked.

Slowly he nodded. Because 'mission' was a word he knew. It tugged at something deep in his core, some fundamental part of him that understood. Missions were vital. He could not let anything stop him from accomplishing his. But… what was his mission? He felt like he had one, already. It rattled around like pressure in his head, but no matter how hard he focused on it he could only get the vaguest of impressions. Mostly the warmth of another body near him, held by both of his arms but it didn't feel like the way he understood things to feel with his metal arm.

The doctor noticed him staring at it. "You were hurt." He offered and Soldier... Winter? No, he liked Soldier better. Winter was cold and brought sickness, coughing not his own and a deep fear that very much was. Soldier looked at the doctor.

"What is my mission?" He asked and the doctor looked surprised, before his expression settled into a pleased smile.

"You will be given many missions, soldier. But first you must rest. You will remain untouched by time, brought out as needed and kept in stasis when not. This is to preserve your skills and build a legend HYDRA can use." He explained and suddenly the clamps came open.

Soldier twitched in surprise and for the briefest of moments after it sprang open every instinct in him _screamed_ at him to kill the doctor in front of him and flee. It would be so, so easy, he knew it would, and he _wanted_ it. Wanted to feel the man's neck break in his hands and then he would run, run as far and as fast as he could.

The instinct scared him. He gripped the chair instead and slowly got to his feet. Despite the overwhelming pain he'd felt only minutes ago when he tried to move, now he felt nothing. Rolling his shoulders and stretching felt good. He could shift his weight easily, knew that any punch or kick he through would be hard enough to break bone. That strength brought him a sense of security. He could fight, if needed. Easily even.

So he followed the doctor through the halls of a bunker, subtly studied the black masked guards and men in military uniforms who stopped to watch them pass. They all had the same awed expression as they looked at him and it grated his nerves. He didn't like being stared at like that. He almost growled at them when the doctor opened a large metal door and led him inside.

This room was smaller than all the others and unoccupied aside from one man, who was neither a guard nor military, who stood beside a machine. It was a large metal cylinder out of which white smoke was falling. There was an upright platform inside shaped enough like a human silhouette Soldier knew it was for him. He hadn't seen a machine like this before; nothing came up from his subconscious to give him any idea what it was or what it did. He didn't know if that was good or bad. The doctor has said it would keep him in stasis; that didn't sound like too terrible a thing to experience.

"Are you ready?" The doctor asked and he nodded. This may not be a mission, but it was orders and orders were meant to be followed. Still, he couldn't shake the wrongness pooling in his core as he settled against the platform. A metal door slid down in front of him, sealing him inside with a hiss of air. There was a small glass porthole that he could see out of, and that they could no doubt see into.

He took a slow breath, unsure what exactly he was preparing for but preparing for pain nonetheless. There was a blast of cold that felt distantly familiar, like he knew what it was like to be so utterly freezing down to his bones it made everything numb. But this was so much sharper. So much faster. Briefly, he actually burned from head to toe, not a single centimeter untouched by it. Then, almost as suddenly as it had struck him, everything went numb and black.


	12. A Broken Angel

Steve had never felt weak like this. Well, weak was the wrong word. He had never manifested in such a frail body before. Usually his summoners were strong enough he at least got a healthy human form; this was not. He was shorter, much shorter, than he was used to. His limbs felt thin. His vision was poorer. It was harder to breathe. His hearing was off. Not that these things would really affect him; he was a demon and a strong one at that.

Then again, his summoner usually anchored him with their own body. Now, it was only the sigil on the ground under his feet that kept him in the mortal world. It would have been easy enough to break free and go back, but Steve was admittedly curious. There were two summoners in the room, standing nearby dressed in lab coats, and they had yet to tell him why he'd been summoned. He paced casually in the small circle and kept a close eye on the summoners as they watched him in return.

Eventually more men entered the darkened, otherwise empty room through a large reinforced door. There were five of them. The four able bodied men, who surrounded the fifth, did not interest him. They were the same as the summoners: dull, ordinary humans with tainted souls, but nothing special. No heavenly spark or hell's stain in their souls to make them stand out.

But the one in the middle; he was interesting. Physically he was in better shape than any of the others, if one discounted his missing left arm. But it was inside, his soul and mind, that was different. Steve was fascinated, actually, because this man was split in two. His body operated like a puppet, obeying unerring the orders given to him by the other men. When one snapped [kneel] in Russian, he immediately dropped to his knees with a thunk and didn't even flinch. Complete and total surrender.

But there was something there, buried deep in his eyes and in his mind, in his soul, as he stared blankly at Steve. Some spark that Steve wanted to reach out for and take hold of.

One of the summoners began speaking, the Latin words used to bind a demon to someone. They wanted to bind him to the man split in two. Steve felt the pull, weak and one he could easily have shaken off, but this was interesting. Nothing this unique had happened in a very long time. Steve wanted to know more, but he was going to shape the bind himself. So he stepped forward, effortlessly leaving the circle, and crouched so he was face to face with the man, who continued to stare at him.

The man didn't flinch when Steve touched his face; he didn't react at all. Nor did he when Steve pressed his forehead against the other man's, besides closing his eyes. Steve closed his too, and then he slipped into the other man's mind.

There was no resistance. Even summoners offered some resistance, usually in the belief that if they didn't surrender everything Steve couldn't take whatever he wanted (they were wrong). But this man simply let him in. Gave Steve everything; his able body, his fractured mind, his memories locked behind a wall of electricity. He gave Steve everything, but his soul.

That was the spark Steve had seen. This man was broken here in his mortal form but his soul was a brilliant star, saturated with Grace and destined for heaven. He would be a Guardian, a powerful one at that. His soul had been touched by God, chosen for that purpose.

Even if Steve didn't know better than to mess with souls destined for Heaven's ranks, he couldn't bring himself to hurt this man. From the fragments of memory Steve glimpsed, he was a good man who had already been through hell on earth. Even demons had more respect for life than to do to someone what had been done to him.

When Steve pressed closer, wanting to feel his Grace, it was only then that the man reacted. He didn't shield his soul like humans normally tried, but there was a little voice that cried out in English _"no! Please no! Don't take it from me! It's all I have left!"_ Desperate and in pain in a way Steve had never heard someone. And despite his pleas and despite his fear and despite the way he clutched his soul protectively, he didn't try to stop Steve. Steve didn't think he was capable of it anymore. The humans had stripped that from him.

_"Hush, angel. It's alright. I don't want your soul. It's too bright to be tainted by hell, not even by me."_ Steve promised, trying to sound soothing. The man didn't believe him and Steve could feel the way he surged forward to cradle his soul protectively. But he didn't shield it and Steve knew that if he asked, the man would hand it over. He wouldn't strike a bargain or ask for anything back; he would simply give it because the humans had broken him to that point.

And that brought forth a rage Steve had not known in a very long time.

How dare these humans, these pitiful disgusting unimportant humans, reduce someone so bright to this? If he were whole, no demon could have ever convinced this man to give up his soul no matter what they offered. And now he would simply hand it over if asked, like it was Steve's right to take whatever he wanted.

He had, oh Steve had taken everything from men with stained and tainted souls, but never without offering them something in return. Whether Steve thought it was a fair trade for a man's soul, it was the barganier's choice. And someone with this much Grace would never agree to that kind of bargain. This wasn't a choice.

Steve made a decision, one he never thought he would make. He reached for the man's soul again and felt him recoil, but he didn't try to take it. Instead he wrapped his power around it and built a shield, surrounded and hid it from everything outside. The man's Grace burned him, but it felt good to be touched by it once again. Slowly, now cradled in Steve's power, he felt the man relax slightly. Almost peeked out to see what Steve was doing.

_"It's alright, angel. You are weak and I will protect you until you are strong. These men had no right to hurt you like this."_ Steve promised. The man still didn't believe him, but he seemed content to stay with his soul in Steve's shield. _"I need an anchor, something stronger than the sigil they're using, if I'm going to help you more. Your moral body can be that anchor. I won't ask for anything more in return."_ Steve explained.

The man didn't answer so much as he just retreated further, curled up tighter. It was almost fascinating the way he was separating his soul from his body and something Steve had never seen a human accomplish before. Of course, this was hardly an ordinary human. Steve wanted a stronger confirmation, but he didn't think the man was capable of giving it.

He pulled back and opened his eyes. Barely a few seconds had passed during their exchange. One of the summoners was still speaking in Latin. Steve's gaze fell on the man's missing arm and it sparked an idea. Steve pressed his hand to the man's shoulder and poured power into it. He would not taint the man's soul, only his mortal body, but the bond had to be strong for this to work. And if Steve could give him back his missing limb in the process then all the better.

Steve felt the man react to the pain, but only deep in his mind and Steve kept it separated from his soul. In the real world he flinched, obviously fitting back a cry of pain, as a black liquid began oozing from where his arm had been severed. It had a life of it's own and took it's form based on the shape in Steve's mind. An arm, powerful and sleek, dexterous and nearly indestructible, made of intertwining black tendrils that looked much like human muscle. It was one of his best creations, if he did say so himself. The only spot of color in the blackness was a red star on the shoulder, one Steve also bore and gave to all those who made a bargain with him. It would keep other demons away.

Once the arm was complete the man slumped, the pain having taken its toll on his body and Steve held him stable with gentle hands on his shoulders. Having a stronger anchor had already altered his form; he was taller, bigger and more powerful. In as close to his immortal form as he had ever been here on the mortal plain and it felt good.

Slowly the man looked up and met Steve's eyes. His mask had finally broken, given way to a fearful almost innocent confusion. Steve reached out and cradled his cheek again and the man leaned into the touch with a look bordering on bliss, almost trembling under his hand. "Hush, angel. Rest. I'll protect you." Steve promised softly, and he meant it.

The man nodded just a little. Steve traced his cheekbone and he had to admit the man was gorgeous. Exactly the kind of man Steve would normally bed, if he were in the mood. And maybe they could later, once the man had healed and while he was still human. But first Steve needed to get him away from his tormentors and he was going to enjoy this.

"Close your eyes." He insisted softly, in English, and the man obediently closed his eyes. Steve stood and the summoner who had been reading from a book trailed off. Steve looked at the bunch of them and smiled wickedly. He switched to Russian, just to be sure they would understand.[Did you really think you could control me through him? That's a laugh. You can't control a demon, especially not through an angel.]

They all just stared blankly as he stepped towards them. The two summoners moved back fearfully as the other men in black put themselves between Steve and the summoners while they drew weapons. Their guns wouldn't hurt Steve; he almost laughed. He stretched out a hand and enjoyed the terror that radiated from them with only that action.

He wanted to take his time and make them hurt for what they'd done, but he and the angel needed to leave first and foremost. So he chose something quick and painful. All six of the men gasped simultaneously and after a moment blood spilled from their eyes, noses, ears, and mouths. Most of them only swayed on their feet for a few moments before they collectively crumpled. Steve ripped their souls out and it was an energy rush to collect them.

Then he turned back to the angel, who was still kneeling with his eyes closed. Steve knelt and gently touched his jaw, which made the man open his eyes. "Let's get out of here." Steve said. The man didn't nod, but stood when Steve helped him to his feet.

He startled for a moment when he noticed the arm and slowly he moved his fingers, watching as the darkness moved no different than his human arm. He looked from the arm to Steve to the dead men, then back to Steve. Steve offered him a smile. "They deserved it." He offered. The man didn't say anything but when Steve held out his hand he cautiously took it.

Steve pulled him close but before he could teleport the man finally spoke. "Why do you call me angel?" His voice was raw, low and gravely, but strong. Tentative and curious.

Steve turned to face him fully and cradled his jaw. "You may not be an angel yet, but you will be. Your soul is destined for it." Steve explained.

The man frowned a little. "Are you a demon?" He asked after a moment and Steve nodded. "Why are you protecting me?"

"Because these men had no right to hurt you like this, to try to control one who has been touched by God and given Grace. It infuriates me." Steve answered honestly and the man seemed to believe him as he nodded and slumped against Steve's chest. Steve held him close, wrapped them in darkness, and they left the room and its dead far behind.


	13. Of Life and Living

Steve's first attempt to visit the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian had been a miserable failure. On his second attempt he'd at least made it inside, and then the first thing he had seen had been Bucky's face on a large glass mural and he'd fled. Finally, on his third attempt, he was actually observing it. Reading the plaques and listening to the narration, seeing what pictures and artifacts had survived.

Historians had done a pretty good job, for the most, of getting things right. Their uniforms had been practically flawless, of course, and the stories fairly accurate (mild exaggerations mostly, here and there). But not one had gotten Bucky right. Nothing mentioned how pretty much all of Steve's sketchbooks, except the ones on display, were at least 90% Bucky. That the picture of Peggy in his compass was only stuck, very haphazardly, on the surface while underneath and carefully secured behind glass was one of Bucky (standing with Steve's ma, because Bucky had gotten protectively concerned about Steve carrying around a picture of only him).

Even the interview reel that played periodically in a quiet darkened room was wrong. It featured mostly Peggy, though every Commando made an appearance even if sometimes it was in pairs. Bucky, as far as Steve could tell, had the least time. The only soundbites they'd used had been comments about their life before the serum and were, for all intents and appearances, upbeat. Bucky looked sad at times, but the mood was supposed to be light and his tone was often teasing.

But Steve knew. He could hear how sarcastic Bucky's humor was. Could see the way the makeup hadn't quite covered the dark circles under Bucky's eyes. The way his expression sometimes went a little numb, his smile frequently forced. His hair was obviously freshly cut, maybe even that day, but still longer than Steve had ever seen it. But his clothes were the most telling; his fatigues, which had always fit so perfectly because Bucky had always tailored them himself, hung a little loose. Bucky had lost weight and not cared enough to fix his uniform.

It made Steve's heart ache. Bucky had been hurting so badly after his death and no one had noticed or cared enough to help. Bucky probably wouldn't have let them, just like he tried after Azzano except then Steve had been there to call him out. And while all the Commandos had known Bucky would never let Steve get away with that stuff, they had no idea that he did the same for Bucky. Was the only one Bucky had trusted enough to _let_ look after him.

Steve wandered out of the theater in a daze and found himself in front of the plaque about Bucky. All the Commando's had one. They were a little bit clinical at times, talking about birth dates and general struggles; like the racism Gabe and Morita had faced in the army before joining the Commandos and, Steve was sad to learn, after. Bucky's was much the same. It talked about his birth and how long they'd been friends, his rise to sergeant and his time as a POW. Of course his work as Steve's second was mentioned, including their last mission together and the loss of his arm when he fell.

And the thing Steve would forever be proud of; after the war Bucky had been given a significant amount of money, a condolence package on top of everything the government owed to them both since Steve had left everything to him. And he had used it to create the Sarah Roger's Project, a collection of hospitals across the country (and now the world) dedicated to helping kids. It was still the leading expert on childhood asthma.

And it was only now that Steve realized there was something strange, something different about Bucky's plaque. Because when it came to what happened to him after the war, the Project was all it mentioned. The other Commandos plaques mentioned weddings and kids, where they'd lived and gone, what they'd done, when and how they'd died, where they were buried. But not Bucky's. And that didn't sit right with Steve.

* * *

As soon as he was back at his apartment he pulled up JARVIS on his phone. Tony had stared at him for a solid five minutes when Steve had asked if it was possible; Steve was sure it was less because the idea had never occurred to him and more that he didn't expect Steve to understand the technology well enough to ask. But regardless, Tony had agreed with enthusiasm and had even gone so far as to give all the Avengers remote access to JARVIS.

It came in handy at moments like this.

"How can I be of assistance, Captain?" JARVIS greeted.

"I need you to look up something. I want to know everything recorded about Bucky's life after the war." Steve said as he took a seat.

"Certainly. Just a moment." JARVIS went quiet and Steve waited impatiently until about thirty seconds later JARVIS said "I have compiled everything publically available, as well as from SHIELD's records. Would you like me to send it to your phone?"

"Please." Steve confirmed and a moment later his phone had downloaded the files. "Thanks JARVIS." Steve added.

"You are most welcome." JARVIS deactivated himself and Steve settled into his armchair. It was very comfortable and he had Pepper to thank for that. But at the moment he was more focused on what he was reading.

SHIELD kept detailed notes of everything that had happened before and during the war, not unexpectedly. Even they didn't mention Bucky and Steve's true relationship, though. There were detailed records of Bucky's time in the hospital and the therapy following the loss of his arm, which made up about the first six months after his discharge. After Steve's "death". There were two interviews noted, including the one from the museum, and JARVIS had helpfully included the footage. There was everything that had gone into the Sarah Roger's Project and it mentioned that afterward Bucky had spent some time helping Howard search for the Valkyrie.

And then abruptly, after about five years, there was just nothing. It was like Bucky had disappeared off the face of the earth. There was no mention of any weddings or kids. No obituaries honoring his death or saying where he was buried. No addresses or phone numbers. No SHIELD missions, covert or otherwise. There was nothing.

Steve reactivated JARVIS and asked "JARVIS, is there a problem with the files?"

"What do you mean, Captain?" JARVIS questioned.

"Why isn't there anything after 1955?" Steve explained.

"One moment." JARVIS sounded distinctly confused and Steve waited impatiently for JARVIS to finish doing whatever he was doing. It didn't take long. "There is no mistake, Captain. There is simply nothing recorded about James Buchannan Barnes after 1955." Even JARVIS sounded surprised and wasn't that an unusual occurrence.

"Look into this, JARVIS. I want to know what happened to him." Steve ordered.

"Of course, sir." JARVIS agreed.

"I'm going to watch these interviews, see if I can't get any clues. Let me know if you find anything?" Steve requested.

"I will, Captain." JARVIS deactivated again and Steve pulled up the first interview. It was a discharge debrief with SHIELD, still the SSR at the time since it had happened pretty shortly after Steve's death, and not publicly available anywhere. It was also clinical and while Bucky mentioned a few details Steve hadn't known, it was mostly familiar. Reruns of their missions, who and what had been captured or killed, the when and where. It was almost too clinical; it offered Steve no insights into what had happened to Bucky, even if it did give him a glimpse of how harrowed Bucky had been during his recovery.

The other interview was from the museum. The camera was steady, aimed at Bucky who was seated slightly left and facing off to the right side of the screen. The way he was turned minimized the obviousness of his missing arm but Steve saw how it made him sit differently, with his shoulders slightly crooked. The interviewer, a woman Steve couldn't see because she was seated behind the camera, opened with "you're a hard man to get a hold of, Sergeant Barnes."

"Been busy." It looked and sounded casual and slightly flirty, playful in the way Bucky always was unless a situation called for otherwise. But Steve could tell his heart wasn't in it; there was no gleam in his eyes, even with the slight quirk in his lips, and his hand remained still in his lap.

"Well, thank you for making time for this." The interviewer answered; she no doubt bought Bucky's act if the new lilt in her words was any indication. She asked a few expected questions about the Commandos and their work, and then moved on to the ones about their childhood and what it was like growing up with Steve.

Slowly, the longer the questions went on, Bucky's facade gave way to exhaustion. He shrunk further and further into himself. His answers became shorter. Steve realized how much altering they'd done to the reel in the exhibit and why Bucky's portions of it had been so short; so little of the footage was the right tone.

And then the interviewer asked "Do you miss him?"

Like a dragon that had just been woken from a long sleep, Bucky's entire body changed. He sat up straight and there was a look in his eyes. The same that had been there when Bucky had screamed "not without you" across a wall fire, one that had never matched up to the fire in Bucky's gaze.

"Do I miss him? Of course I fucking miss him! He was my best friend and he meant everything to me and now he's gone and we don't even have a body to bury! Or maybe you'd prefer I go into all the gory details. How I can't sleep at night without him there or how eating makes me sick. How everything feels bland and colorless because he's dead!" Bucky had risen from his seat a bit and he looked terrifying as he spat the words at the interviewer.

There was a heartbreaking beat of silence before someone moved forward. Peggy. She stepped between Bucky and the camera and murmured to him. Slowly he sank back into the chair like he was a puppet with cut strings and after a moment Peggy stepped back away from him. Once she was off camera, the interviewer took another moment to recover before she said "Okay, let's try that again, shall we? Is everything still taping?" She asked, though her voice shook just a little and Steve tried to feel bad that she'd been so startled. He didn't.

There were murmured confirmations and then something made Bucky sit up.

He looked utterly exhausted, worn and drained and Steve utterly hated the interviewer when she repeated her question of "Do you miss him?"

"Yeah, of course I do. He was my best friend." Bucky answered and now that Steve saw it he couldn't unsee how weary Bucky was in the footage. How forced his tone was. He was carrying the weight of a war, of a thousand deaths, and no one noticed. How Steve hadn't seen it was an utter mystery to him.

"If you could have said anything to him, before he died, what would you have said?" The interview asked and for a moment, Bucky's expression gave away everything. Steve knew exactly what he would have said and it was nobody's business but theirs.

Bucky stood up abruptly and said "Interview's over." before he walked away. The others on the set objected, insisted he returned to his seat, but Bucky ignored them all. He almost knocked the camera over as he brushed past and Steve almost vindictively wished he had as the recording finally stopped.

Steve sat there for a few minutes and probably would have for hours if JARVIS hadn't come to life with a gentle "Captain Rogers?"

Steve took a moment to center himself then said, "yes, JARVIS?"

"I have found something that may be of interest to you." JARVIS said.

"Go ahead." Steve encouraged and a document popped up on his screen. He scrolled through it as JARVIS spoke.

"These are the meeting notes documented by Stark Sr. between himself and Sergeant Barnes and is the last known reference to the Sergeant before his disappearance." JARVIS explained. Steve kept reading, but the notes were vague and heavily redacted. There were a couple mentions of tests the pair did, on Bucky for some reason, but the results and all the specifics were blacked out.

"Any chance of recovering the redacted information?" Steve asked.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but no." JARVIS did sound sorry and Steve sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand.

Finally he couldn't sit still any longer. "I'm going for a run, JARVIS. Keep looking for anything you can on Bucky, alright?" Steve requested.

"Certainly, Captain." JARVIS agreed and Steve turned him off. He changed into running clothes in a daze and left his phone home. The moment his feet hit the sidewalk he started running. Technically, he was jogging, but he easily outpaced even a sprinting standard human.

He ran for a long time, long enough the sun was going down before he finally dropped onto a park bench panting. He didn't feel much better, but maybe a little. His anger was gone at least, but now he was achingly lonely. His heart hurt, both for Bucky's pain and the fact he himself was alone. God how he wished Bucky was here. He closed his eyes and slumped against the bench.

"Well, punk, took you long enough to stop running. Was starting to think I'd have to go get dinner by myself." Steve simply smiled at Bucky's voice because, yeah, that was exactly how Bucky would have told him off. After a moment he realized he shouldn't be hearing Bucky's voice and sat upright as his eyes snapped open. And then he couldn't quite believe he wasn't dreaming because standing there in front of him was _Bucky_.

Dressed in casual and mostly black but certainly modern clothes, he looked no different from how Steve last remembered him. Well, that wasn't precisely true; the last time he'd seen Bucky had been when they'd wheeled his best friend into the operating room because he'd fallen down a mountain, his left arm was _gone_, and he'd already spent a couple of hours bleeding out in the snow. This Bucky in front of him was healthy, practically glowing. His hair was markedly different and his skin was tanned like Steve hadn't seen since Bucky's summer working on the docks. But there was something so quintessentially Bucky Steve could never mistake him for anyone else.

"Bucky?" Steve whispered and he nodded.

"Hey, Stevie." Bucky answered with the hint of a mischievous smile on his face. Steve practically launched himself from the bench and grabbed him. Bucky only laughed as Steve all but pat him down, making sure he was real and actually there. Bucky simply let him. "It's okay, Stevie. I'm here, I'm real. I'll explain it all to you, I promise, but I'm here. I swear.." Bucky spoke gently and when fingers carded through his hair Steve was finally able to move back a little.

"Bucky. Oh, god, Bucky. You're here. How? What… I don't… How are you still alive? You look like you haven't aged a day." Steve couldn't get the words out quickly enough and Bucky chuckled, almost embarrassed, as he rubbed his neck.

"Yeah, about that. Turns out whatever Zola did was a bit more successful than we'd thought. Howard was pretty sure it was the only reason I survived the fall and it was definitely the reason I stopped aging." Bucky offered and it took Steve a few minutes to reconcile that. It made sense, but his brain didn't want to believe it.

"And you… that's why you disappeared." He said quietly and Bucky nodded. He seemed unsurprised Steve had already noticed.

"Figured it'd be less suspicious that way. Howard helped; set up some bank accounts that fed through one another back to Stark accounts that would keep me paid through the years. Got me transport without needing an ID, that kind of stuff. Oh, Stevie, if I'd known you were still alive in the Valkyrie I never would have stopped looking and I'm so sorry for that." The look on Bucky's face, the pain, was heartbreaking.

Steve couldn't help reaching for him, cradling Bucky to his chest. Bucky let him, sank into his no doubt too strong grip and held him back. Pressed to his chest like this, he could feel Bucky's warmth. His heartbeat. It reassured him, more than anything, that this was _real_. Bucky was here, in his arms, 70 years into the future.

"How? I… Where have you been?" Steve started to pull back just a little, to see Bucky's face, and abruptly realized that Bucky had two arms. "You… your arm. You lost it." Steve mumbled and Bucky nodded.

He lifted his left arm and moved the fingers. It couldn't be real, but it moved just like it was. "It's a bit of a long story, but it was a gift from some really incredible people. I've been staying with them for about 40 years now." Bucky explained. "They're descended from aliens so the whole unaging thing doesn't really phase them. The arm's vibranium, if you were curious…" Bucky trailed off as Steve ran his hands over Bucky's left arm.

As Steve pushed up his sleeve and ran his hands over it he realized it didn't feel like skin. It was metal, though it was warm. He could feel grooves, interlocking plates that shifted every time Bucky moved his arm or fingers. "Here." Bucky pulled free of his grip, gently, and pressed a backwards seven into the palm using his human thumb.

The skin and hair suddenly shimmered and faded away, leaving gleaming black and gold in their place. He held it back out and Steve could only gape as he touched it. "This is… Tony would love to get a look at this." Was all he could offer, because he didn't have words to describe how beautiful it was. How utterly elegant.

Bucky chuckled under his breath and muttered "yeah, I think Shuri would maim me if I ever let a Stark get ahold of her tech."

"Shuri?" Steve asked and Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, long story short, she's my... charge, I guess? I've been her protector ever since she was born." Bucky explained. "And she's the princess of Wakanda, more or less? Her brother's the king." He added, even rubbing at his neck like he was embarrassed to admit that while Steve could only stare. After a moment Bucky looked up and smiled at him.

Steve couldn't help himself. He didn't care that they were in public and anyone could see. That after the Battle of New York he'd been mobbed pretty much any time he went in public. He grabbed Bucky and kissed him. Bucky made a surprised noise, but after a moment melted against him and kissed him back with a moan that was desperate and slightly pained, filled with every ounce of longing Steve felt for him too. Steve pulled him closer, because he never wanted to let Bucky go, but eventually they did need to breathe. He didn't pull back far, just rested his forehead against Bucky's as they panted and basically shared each other's air.

"Damn, Stevie. I forgot how good that could be." Bucky muttered breathlessly and Steve chuckled, feeling a bit breathless himself.

"I believe I was promised dinner?" Steve finally said and Bucky laughed, warm and open and bright and it made Steve's heart flutter.

"Whatever you want, Stevie. I'll take you anywhere you want, give you anything you want. Show you the world as I've come to know it." Bucky promised, as sincere as he'd always been. And Steve kissed him again. He couldn't help it. He loved this man, had loved him for literal decades. Had thought he'd lost him and now Bucky was here, in his arms, and Steve didn't care what the rest of the world thought. He wouldn't give this moment up for anything.


	14. Demands of the Emperor

Steve knew the moment the man entered the throne room he wasn't like the others. Not only was he significantly younger than the old men who made of the kings of the lands Steve had just conquered, he didn't carry himself like any noble would. Steve had to fight down a smile every time he tilted his head too far forward in an effort to keep his eyes firmly glued to the floor because his circlit was precariously placed at best. Steve was honestly amazed it didn't clatter to the floor as he, alongside the other kings, knelt in front of Steve's throne.

But it didn't and so Steve took a moment to just enjoy what else was happening. He had all the great kings kneeling at his feet (well, almost all of them, but it was hardly an irritation to attack The Hydra Union again and make his point to Alexander Pierce personally). This had been his goal for years; the conclusion of over a decade of planning and training. Of organizing and struggling and and bloodshed now, finally, they had succeeded.

He had put an end to the incessant wars and united all the territories into one country.

Steve felt a little vindictively pleased as he stood from his throne and paced in front of the old kings, knocking their crowns off one by one until he reached the obvious not-king. "And who are you?" He asked and the man flinched subtly.

"My l-lord Pierce's heir, sire." He stuttered. Steve had to fight down a smile; teasing him was honestly fun and it was becoming more obvious by every passing moment this man was not nobility, nor did it seem likely Pierce had sent him as some kind of assassin or agent. He was a proxy meant to do nothing more than die in Pierce's place. And if Steve wasn't wrong, the man knew it.

"I wasn't aware he was married nor did I believe he had any children." Steve answered and again the man flinched.

"He-he isn't. Doesn't. I'm, uh, his ward. Sire. My name is James." The man, James, shrunk down in a way that didn't suit his build nor the station he was claiming to have.

"James." Steve repeated, trying for something soft. A small amount of the tension in James' shoulds eased, until Steve said "Stand up." He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment fearfully before he stood, keeping his head bowed.

Steve walked around James slowly, studying him from head to toe. There were all kinds of little things that confirmed Steve's theory; the clothes were made of expensive material, but hastily tailored and not nearly as perfect a fit as they appeared at a distance. His boots were old and well worn, scuffed up in a way no noble would be seen wearing. And of course, the circlet. It wasn't silver like it might first appear but something cheaper and lighter and not nearly designed carefully enough to be genuine.

Steve stepped up close to James' back, close enough to feel the heat of the other man's body. Leaning in close to his ear Steve tapped the circlet. "Keep bowing like a servant and you'll lose your crown." Steve whispered and James flinched again. This close, Steve could feel the way he started trembling. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

"No." Steve started slightly at James' quick answer and then smiled a little at the confidence in it. James was frightened, understandably, but thankfully not dumb.

"Good. Then how about you tell me the truth. What did Pierce threaten to make you play his heir and die in his place?" Steve asked, still in a hushed voice that made James shiver.

James swallowed hard, but seemed to resign himself as he took a deep breath. "He saved my life and gave me a job. I owe him a life debt." He answered, also quietly enough only the pair of them could hear.

Steve considered that for a moment. "Then if I spare your life now, would you owe me one too?" Steve asked. James jerked away from him suddenly, the circlet finally tumbling from it's precarious resting place, and whirled around to face him. Now that James had his head up Steve got a good look at the lovely features of his face. He looked a bit rough around the edges perhaps, but he was far from an unattractive man.

His blue eyes were particularly stunning and abruptly a plan formed in Steve's mind. It was a bit wild, perhaps, but then his unorthodox strategies had won him his empire. So he smiled and gently ran his thumb over James' cheek bone. James looked startled, but there was something hopeful in his expression that hasn't been there before.

Steve released his face and stepped back. "Sam." Steve ordered without looking away from James so he saw the way the hope faded. His friend stepped up beside them, waiting for Steve's order. "Escort him to the bathhouse to get cleaned up and commission some new attire for him that fits properly. After all, it wouldn't do to introduce my fiance to the citizenry in dirty boots and borrowed clothing."

James looked surprised and confused, but the hope was back and it made Steve's smile turn into more of a smirk.

"Of course, sire." Sam knew him well and had no doubt already figured out Steve's plan. It wouldn't surprise him either to find out Clint and Natasha were already working behind the scenes to make sure everything went smoothly.

James didn't start to move even as Sam gently pulled his arm; instead he stared intently at Steve and offered a quiet confused "fiance?"

Steve nodded and stepped forward slightly, using one hand on James' hip and the other around the back of the brunet's neck to draw him close. They fit together surprisingly naturally. "Of course. I think you're simply stunning and a marriage between myself and Pierce's heir would surely be to the benefit of us both, as well as our people. Don't you think?" Steve made sure to speak clearly, letting everyone in the room hear it.

Pierce's spies, and Steve had no doubt there was at least one, would report to the man exactly what Steve wanted them to; that Steve had instantly fallen for and was now engaged to Pierce's heir. Even if Pierce "disinherited" James, James would now forever be under Steve's protection and Pierce's people would no doubt become confused. It wouldn't take much more to get them on his side after that and Pierce had given him the perfect chess piece. Steve's Queen, and he couldn't wait to see a proper crown on James' head.


End file.
